The Reconciliation & The Journey
by waitingondaisies
Summary: After Dumbledore's death, Hogwarts has to be evacuated to ensure a proper turnover of the wards. With Bellatrix still on the loose, Harry has little desire to endanger his friends by going home with them, so he resigns himself to a terrible holiday spent with the Dursleys. Thankfully, Severus has been on the alert ever since he uncovered bits and pieces of Harry's childhood.
1. Prologue

this is a sequel to The Chosen One & The Halfblood Prince, so it will contain callbacks and spoilers for that first part, but I also think it ought to be enjoyable without reading the first part. and I'm always happy to answer questions either here in the reviews (unless it's a guest review, i can't respond to those) or over at my tumblr, waitingondaisies, so feel free to ask away

* * *

Severus sat down heavily at his desk, burying his face into his hands. It had been a hellish past couple of months.

When the portkey had landed in the Hospital Wing, Poppy had immediately ushered Harry away for treatment. In her absence, Severus had slipped away to his quarters for the first time since he had begun his charade.

With Albus's death, the wards Albus had put up to prevent anyone from entering Severus's quarters had fallen. So, standing in the entryway to his quarters, Severus had spent the next several minutes doing his best to replace the fallen wards with his own. Once he had finished that task, Severus had walked into his quarters properly.

They had been exactly as he'd left them on that last night before he'd assumed the identity of Alfonse "Eli" Hopkirk, sixth-year Gryffindor.

This familiarity– stagnancy, even– had struck Severus heavily.

Severus had changed so much in the short time since he'd last step foot in these quarters, but nothing else had changed. Not his quarters, not his colleagues. Not Harry.

Nothing had changed, except for Severus himself.

And so Severus had spent the next several days processing all the changes his time as Eli had wrought in him. He had also spent time, with Minerva's help when she could spare the time, cleaning up the mess that Dumbledore's death had left. Chen had continued to cover his classes so that he would have time to do the bulk of the work.

The Board of Governors had approved Minerva's appointment as headmistress readily enough, thankfully. But that meant Severus had needed to begin the search for a new Transfiguration professor. And, of course, Albus's will had needed to be executed, and his funeral had needed to be planned.

Severus had also needed to sort through the fallout from his time as Eli. Really he was still sorting through it, since Harry had yet to forgive him or even look him in the eye. But in the immediate aftermath, Severus had needed to ensure that Mafalda Hopkirk wasn't suspicious, and to ensure that none of Harry's friends spread the information around.

Without Albus to handle the press, it could have been troublesome if word had gotten out that Severus, fully-grown adult and morally-grey spy to boot, had masqueraded as a child.

After Albus's funeral, Minerva had pulled Severus aside and informed him that she had appointed him as Deputy Headmaster. Severus had protested, had said that there were others that were far more qualified for the position than he was, but Minerva had refused to listen.

When Severus had finally fallen silent, Minerva had explained that she had been torn over appointing him– because of the very reasons that Severus had tried to delineate. But her decision had been made following his initiative in stepping forward to clean up the mess left behind in the wake of Dumbledore's death, Voldemort's slaughter, and his own unmasking.

Severus had even managed to find a new Transfiguration professor before Dumbledore's funeral. Andromeda Tonks had agreed to take Minerva's place for at least a couple of years. This had allowed Minerva to focus more of her attention on the battles she was fighting with the Ministry, battles to keep Hogwarts free of their control. The leeches over at the Ministry had seen a power vacuum in Albus's death, and they had done their level best to seize some of that power for themselves.

However, it had not taken Minerva long to teach them the error of their ways, and once she had done so, Severus had been able to pass some of the duties he had been fulfilling over to Minerva, where they rightfully belonged.

Not long after Dumbledore's funeral, Chen had come into Severus's office. She had said that she had noticed that Severus had changed, and that if he wanted, she would be willing to teach him how to be a more effective professor.

His first instinct had been to react defensively, to deny that he needed any help in that realm, but he had restrained that impulse long enough to come to the obvious conclusion that, perhaps, he could use some pointers from her.

And since things had finally begun to settle down again, he had the time to begin to move back into his classroom.

Chen had said that she believed the best way to learn was to do, so thus began a period wherein Severus and Chen co-taught every potions class. After every class, Chen had given him pointers on how to improve until she had finally stopped having any pointers to give at all.

At that point, Chen had said that she had taught Severus all she could, had said that she would take her leave.

During the time where Severus and Chen had been co-teaching, the discomfort Severus had felt around Harry had been somewhat alleviated by Chen's constant presence.

The first lesson Severus had given to the sixth years on his own had been uncomfortable in an entirely new– and intense– way.

Harry had refused to look Severus in the eye. This had been nothing new, but it had been far more obvious in the absence of Chen, where Harry had preferred to look during lectures even when Severus had been the one lecturing. Without Chen to deflect his gaze onto, Harry had spent the entire lecture with his eyes glued to either his notes or his parchment.

Severus was now sitting in his office after yet another of these uncomfortable lessons. Harry's determination to not look at him was getting to be truly ridiculous, but Severus had absolutely no idea what he could do about it.

The classroom was hardly the place for such a confrontation, and Harry avoided Severus with incredible efficiency outside classes. And looking at his notes or cauldron was not a sufficient reason for Severus to give Harry detention anymore– not that he wanted to antagonize the boy with such an action.

This left Severus with practically no options regarding how to begin to make things up to Harry.

Not that Severus could blame Harry for his avoidance. Severus had lied to Harry specifically to become his friend. Had gained Harry's trust, both as Eli over the week where he had masqueraded as Harry's classmate, and as Severus during that final confrontation against Voldemort.

And then Albus had forced Severus to destroy all the trust that Harry might have had in him.

Now his rapport with Harry was worse off than it had been even before Severus had first learned he was wrong about Harry, because Harry now had every reason to hate and mistrust him. Severus could not blame Harry for his reaction, and because he could not blame Harry, he found it hard to think of a way to begin to repair things between them, to rebuild the trust.

Besides what he was already doing, that is. Which was by giving Harry as much space as he possibly could, by grading him and his friends fairly, by publicly punishing his Slytherins when they were bullies.

But it wasn't enough.

It had done nothing to bridge the wall that Harry had built between them.

A small part of Severus wondered if he ought to give up on the hope of ever reconciling with Harry. But then Severus's memories of his time spent with Harry would swarm to the forefront of his mind, leaving him bereft and determined to fix things between them once more.

Especially since those memories included reminders of what Harry had to look forward to, if Harry was allowed to return to the Dursley's residence.

Thankfully, Severus still had until summer break to mend things between him and Harry, enough time to ensure that the boy never returned to that place. Or, failing that, he had time to convince someone else– Minerva, possibly– to see to it for him.

But Severus knew that to have something done right, he needed to do it himself.

So Severus resolved to bide his time and hope that an opportunity to take down the wall between them would present itself.

* * *

AN: just so you know, the fic will mostly be written in past tense, not past perfect tense lmaooo please let me know what you thought in the comments!


	2. Sometimes Losing People Is Worse

Harry closed the door to the top of the Astronomy tower behind him; it was past curfew, but Harry had planned this trip to minimize his chances of being caught. He was still under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, and he'd brought the Marauder's Map. Because it was December in Scotland, he'd also come prepared in clothes heavily covered with Warming Charms.

After examining the map and ensuring that there was no one anywhere near the tower, Harry wiped the map and slid it into his pocket. Then he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and carefully folded it into a pillow. He set it down on the floor of the tower and stretched out so he had his head on the cloak and his eyes on the stars.

Automatically, his eyes sought out Sirius, the Dog Star. It had been a long time since he'd had a chance to come up here and do this. In the days and weeks immediately following Voldemort and Dumbledore's deaths, Harry had been under intense scrutiny that had prevented him from slipping off alone.

The press had been banned from Hogwarts' grounds, but that hadn't stopped them from reporting what they wanted about the events surrounding the deaths and about Harry's involvement with them.

So alone time to just _think_ had been hard to come by. And Harry had needed it– and needed it badly. Harry had lost Dumbledore and Lupin– men he respected, men he admired– but he had had no space to process the losses.

And the people who were constantly around him, his friends, were hardly people he could talk to about it.

They tried, but Harry just couldn't talk to them about it. He couldn't find the words to describe the crushing weight of grief, the feeling of being cast adrift without the person, the cruel knowledge that the person was gone forever.

More than that, his friends could never understand what it felt like to be responsible for someone's death. Several people's deaths, Harry reminded himself. Lupin, Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric, Lily, James– all dead because of Harry.

Harry would never be able to tell his friends what that type of bone-deep, all-consuming guilt was like. And even if Harry could manage to get the words out, to confess his guilt, they would feel like they had to reassure him and deny it.

Harry didn't want their platitudes, didn't want them to try and reassure him over something they didn't understand.

And then there was the other thing he refused to talk to his friends about: Eli's betrayal. Or rather, Snape's betrayal, because _Eli_ did not exist.

His friends hadn't been as close to Eli as Harry had been, so they only thought that it was interesting, and somewhat expected, that Snape had been lying to them. And the first time Harry had tried to bring it up, they had tried to say that Snape pretending to be Eli, pretending to be their friend, must have been alright. According to his friends, since Dumbledore had given Snape the potion to change from Eli back into Snape, that made everything okay.

But Harry felt it as the sharp sting of betrayal, like when Moody had turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr– but worse, because Eli had been a _friend_, not just a professor.

So every time his friends had tried to gossip about Snape's time spent as Eli, Harry had tuned them out or left outright, because it felt like they were mocking him when they made light of the situation. He knew they didn't mean it like that, but it was hard to remember that when his chest tightened and his gut clenched in response to their careless words.

Refocusing his gaze on the sky, Harry took a deep breath to try and shake off those very feelings.

"Hey Sirius," Harry said, speaking softly so as to ensure that his voice didn't carry. "It's been a rough couple months. You, well, you probably know about most of it. Because more people have died because of me, so they could have told you about it themselves." Harry sucked in a breath of shockingly frigid air, then released it after a couple of seconds.

"Dumbledore and Lupin died, you know," Harry began again, voice still carrying the slightest quaver. "They wouldn't have even been there if I had just learned Occlumency. You wouldn't have been there– but then, you definitely already know that.

"And I think you already know about Snape, too. When you asked about Eli in King's Cross, you seemed off, somehow. And then you asked about Snape right after– you were probably trying to leave me hints, so I could figure it out myself.

"But I was too _stupid_ to see it. I was too stupid for a lot of things…" Harry trailed off with a painful sigh. If only he could have seen sooner how stupid he had been…

Harry sighed again and slid into a seated position. He ought to leave soon, before it got colder and before his Warming Charms wore off. But heading back to Gryffindor Tower meant questions and concerned looks and–

A whole mess of interactions that Harry just didn't have the energy for.

Then one of his Warming Charms failed completely, and Harry shivered violently. He launched himself to his feet and pulled the cloak over his head as he went. At least he now had proper motivation to head back.

Harry took one last fleeting look at Sirius before he disappeared into the castle.

* * *

"Can you pass the potatoes?" Ron asked.

Harry picked up the platter and handed the whole thing to Ron.

"So," Hermione asked, "what are your holiday plans? I think I already told you that my parents are taking me skiing since I had to leave early last year."

Harry nodded.

Ginny glared at Ron for a moment before turning back to Hermione. "Ron and I found out– like, a week ago– "

"I was going to tell them!" Ron cut in, mouth full of potatoes. "I just kept forgetting!"

"–that Mum's throwing a full family Christmas," Ginny continued, as though she had not been interrupted. "I think she's still a little clingy after everything that's happened. So when Dad finally got through to Percy, she decided to get us all together, including Charlie and Bill."

Harry's gut clenched at this, at seeing the delighted look in Ginny's eyes as she spoke about seeing her whole family together, at the mention of 'everything that's happened', at the– however unintentional– reminder that Harry had no such family of his own to go home to.

Turning slightly to face Ron, Ginny jabbed him in the chest. "And how long were you going to forget to tell Harry? You know Mum wanted you to–"

Professor McGonagall stood up, letting off a short shower of sparks with her wand to catch everyone's attention, and Ginny cut herself off. Harry wanted to know what Ginny had been about to say, but he knew Hermione would be annoyed if they tried to talk over whatever announcement McGonagall was about to give.

"I am sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I have an important announcement to make," McGonagall said, projecting her voice.

She continued on to talk about Dumbledore's death and her appointment as headmistress, so Harry allowed his eyes to glaze over as he thought back to what Ginny had been saying. The Weasleys were having a family holiday this year because of _everything that had happened_.

Harry knew that the Weasleys liked to include him in things, that they even liked to think of him as family. But the truth was that Harry wasn't _really_ family.

And he knew, then, that he couldn't go home with Ron and Ginny this year. He couldn't intrude on their time with their real family, couldn't impose like that.

Harry refocused on McGonagall in time to catch the tail-end of her announcement.

"...All that is to say that the wards are perfectly secure at the moment, but to ensure that they stay that way, Hogwarts will be closing this holiday season. To that end, all of you will have to leave the castle."

Harry gripped the table in front of him, trying to keep his hands from shaking as his stomach fell.

"If you need assistance finding other accommodations, please feel free to come to myself or your Head of House, and we will find someone willing to host you. Finally, please remember that while Voldemort may be dead, many of his followers, including Bellatrix Lestrange, remain at large, so please stay safe," McGonagall concluded. She sat back down in her seat, and seconds later the Great Hall erupted into conversation.

No Hogwarts.

Bellatrix still on the loose.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere except… except the Dursleys. Harry's gut tightened further at the thought of voluntarily going back there before the summer, but he already knew that it was his only choice. He would be safe from Bellatrix there, and more importantly, he wouldn't be endangering his friends or their families by going there.

Harry was glad, in a twisted sort of way, that Mrs Weasley had decided to have a family Christmas this year. It made it easier for him to accept that he had to go to the Dursleys– for everyone's safety.

"I thought that we would have had until the summer before Hogwarts shut down," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"I think it's because of how early in the school year the uh– _turnover_ happened," Ginny replied.

Hermione nodded decisively. "That makes a lot of sense. Headmasters and Headmistresses probably prefer not to retire in the middle of the school year when they can help it."

"Anyways, Harry, you'll be coming to spend Christmas with us," Ron said, as though it were already a foregone conclusion.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. He should've known– from the moment McGonagall said they would all have to evacuate the castle– that he would get a pity invite to Christmas with the Weasleys. Even though they were having a _family_ holiday. "Actually, I'm going home. To the Dursleys," Harry said, his tone daring them to argue with him.

Ron stared at him blankly for a moment, then tossed his head back as he burst into raucous laughter.

Harry watched him laugh, his own expression unchanged.

"That's a good one, mate," Ron said, once he'd sufficiently calmed down to speak. "You really had me for a moment."

"I meant it," Harry said flatly.

That sobered Ron up.

"What– why would you do that?" Ginny asked, sounding bewildered.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, considering what to tell them. There were several reasons– there had to be, for him to decide to go back to the Dursleys– but he didn't want to worsen the pity they were clearly feeling.

"Look, Bellatrix is still on the loose, right? And without Dumbledore or Voldemort around, there's no one to keep her in check, so I just think that I'd be safest at the Dursleys," Harry said. There, that ought to satisfy them.

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione all exchanged a concerned look. Harry grit his teeth at the sight of it and dug into his meal. The sooner he could finish and get out of here, the better.

"Don't you think that's a rather hasty decision?" Hermione asked reasonably.

"No, I mean, sure I made it just now, but it's not like the facts that I based it on are going to change," Harry said around a mouthful of food, half-hoping she would choose to scold him for his poor table manners and drop the subject of where he would be spending his holidays.

He had no such luck, however.

"Mum told us to invite you, though," Ron protested.

At this, Harry paused. If she wanted him there… But then he shook it off, remembering all the other reasons why he couldn't go. And besides, she'd probably just invited him because she knew he had no other family. A pity invite, just like the ones that Ginny and Ron were issuing now.

"Well, you've invited me. And I've said thank you, but I have to decline," Harry said. He quickly shoved the last bite from his plate into his mouth and swallowed it down with a swig of pumpkin juice. "I have to finish that Charms essay, so I'll see you around."

With that, Harry shot up from his seat at Gryffindor table and rushed out of the Great Hall. He wanted to minimize the chance that one of his friends had followed him to resume their questioning. He knew they meant well, but that made it all the harder to shake off.

Hopefully by the time they tracked him down in the library, he would be absorbed enough in his work that they wouldn't disturb him.

* * *

It was the last night before the holidays started and the castle would be evacuated. Harry was walking back to Gryffindor Tower from the Owlery, where he'd been settling Hedwig in for the long run. He had decided to leave her behind over the winter break. He didn't trust Vernon to not hurt her, so it was better if she stayed here, where she'd be safe.

Harry stepped through the portrait hole and hurried through the common room. Most of Gryffindor Tower was here now, getting in one last night together with their friends before they all had to leave each other.

As Harry passed through, he saw that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were occupied in a game of Exploding Snap with some younger years. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that their dorm room would likely be empty, at least for a little while.

Once he was in the relative privacy of the stairs to the dorms, he slowed his pace. Even now, months after everything that had happened, he still felt like people's stares followed him wherever he went.

When Harry stepped onto the landing that led to his dorm room, he paused. There were raised voices issuing from the open door. It only took him a moment to identify Ron and Ginny.

"You should have tried harder to get him to come," Ginny exclaimed. "You shouldn't have waited so long to ask. You haven't even tried at all this past week!"

"I did try!" Ron responded, just as heated. "I did! He's just been so moody lately– you know what he's like!"

Ginny made some inarticulate noise of frustration, but Harry had heard enough; he knew he'd been moody, but it still hurt to hear that Ron was upset because of it. Harry pushed the door to his dorm open the rest of the way. Ron and Ginny both jumped and swapped identical looks laden with guilt.

"Oh hey, Harry," Ron said nervously. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

"It's not like there's a lot to do to get a bird settled in," Harry replied, voice devoid of tone to hide the guilt that was now simmering in his gut. Ron and Ginny had clearly been fighting over him, clearly upset because of his decision.

"Right," Ginny said, giving Ron a hard, significant look. "Well– I'm just going to go now… I think Demelza wanted another game of gobstones…" Then she turned and hurried out of the dorm.

Harry finished walking over to his wardrobe and opened it. He had already transfigured one of Dudley's biggest sweaters into a duffle bag, which he now pulled out and set on his bed. Because he wasn't going to be gone from Hogwarts that long, and because he was far more comfortable leaving his trunk– and all his magical belongings– here where they were safe, he had decided to just bring the bare necessities with him.

The ability to leave things here at Hogwarts was, perhaps, the only benefit about leaving the castle for winter break.

"So, uh, how much did you hear?" Ron asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.

Harry shrugged. "Enough," he said. "I'm sorry you guys were fighting."

"_You're_ sorry?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry walked over to his trunk and began to dig around, searching for Dudley's hand-me-downs that were buried in its depths. They were all he was going to be able to wear this break, after all, so most of the space in his bag would comprise of them.

"You guys were clearly fighting because of me," Harry finally said. He wasn't a huge fan of them talking about him behind his back, but his anger about that was insignificant next to his ever-present guilt.

Ron sighed and came to stand over by Harry. "Are you sure I can't convince you to come home with us? It's not too late, you know. Mum would be over the moon. I would be over the moon."

Harry carelessly shoved the sweaters he'd found into the duffle. "I really am sorry you guys are fighting, but the answer is still no. It's too dangerous."

That had been his method for shutting down the implorations to join the Weasleys for Christmas– _it's too dangerous_– and it worked just as well now as it had every time before.

Ron closed his mouth, a deeply unhappy expression settling over his features.

The knot of guilt in Harry's gut tightened in response to Ron's discomfort. No matter what he did, he seemed to make the people around him unhappy. Harry turned away to hide the distress he was sure would be showing on his own face and resumed digging through his trunk, this time looking for trousers he'd also inherited from Dudley.

Ron sighed. "I just– I hope you know I'm here for you, mate. And, well. I'll make sure Mum sends you as much food as Pig and Errol can carry."

Harry's heart skipped. Even when he was doing nothing but causing problems and upsetting his friends, Ron was still being– _nice. _

"Thank you," Harry said heavily, his voice laden with meaning.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah of course, it's what best mates do," he shuffled his feet. "I promised Hermione I would spend some time with her tonight, so I was gonna go do that… Unless you want me to hang around, I can shoot her a Patronus and stay here. You know she would understand."

Harry was already shaking his head before Ron finished speaking. "No, no, go ahead. I've still got to pack, and then I wanted to, uh, think. Alone."

"If you're sure," Ron said, taking a step towards the door.

"I'm sure," Harry said.

Ron took another step back towards the door. "I'll be back in a bit, if you're still awake." Then he turned and strode out of the room.

Once Ron was gone, Harry finished shoving the trousers into the duffle and collapsed onto his bed, planting his elbows onto his knees and resting his head against his palms. Ron and Ginny had been fighting– because of _him_.

They had seemed genuinely upset. Again, because of Harry.

Harry picked his head up and clenched his hands into fists. He _knew_ why he had to go to the Dursleys. He had to protect his friends, had to make sure Bellatrix wouldn't go seeking them out because Harry was there.

And besides, Harry was sure that once Ron and Ginny actually went home, they would realize that they really were better off without him there. He'd only be an interloper in their family Christmas. It was better to intrude on the Dursleys because they, at least, wouldn't feel the need to hide their resentment.

It was better that he not give the Weasleys a chance to resent him. It would hurt too much if they rejected him now.

* * *

AN: writing this was an exercise in nailing down all the myriad reasons harry would be feeling guilty lsdkjflsdk please leave a review!


	3. Obligatory Train Ride Transition

Harry was on the Hogwarts Express in a compartment with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny. Thankfully, Ron and Ginny seemed to have resolved their argument– their argument about Harry– so the atmosphere was more pleasant than it could have been, though it was still tinged with an undercurrent of discomfort.

Harry knew that the discomfort in the air was entirely his fault. His friends were uncomfortable because they were worried about his choices for the holiday.

Though he felt guilty for making his friends uncomfortable, Harry knew it was the best decision he could have made– really, it was the only decision he could have made. Because there was no way that Harry could have chosen to set aside his concerns about his friends' safety just so he could go home with them.

As the train neared London, Harry began to feel more tense and anxious as the prospect of seeing the Dursleys loomed over him. And he thought his friends had also grown more tense, though he might have just been projecting his own tension onto them.

The morning after McGonagall announced Hogwarts' evacuation, Harry had sent a letter to Aunt Petunia, telling her that he would be returning for the holidays and that he would need to be picked up from King's Cross station.

He had received no reply, but Hedwig had returned without the letter, so Harry had to assume that the letter had been received and the Dursleys would be there.

Just in case, though, Harry had given Hermione some galleons in exchange for pounds so he would be able to get himself to Privet Drive if necessary.

When the train pulled into the station, Harry reluctantly got to his feet and began to collect his things.

"Could you pass me my coat?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked and saw that it was pinned under his duffle. He slung his duffle over his shoulder, then handed Hermione her coat. Harry had already pulled his own on: another hand-me-down from Dudley. It was maybe three years old and had lost one of its buttons long before it had gone to Harry.

It was threadbare in places and dingy overall, but Harry was just grateful he had anything at all. Winter could be terribly cold, and he was far too aware that Aunt Petunia could have easily _forgotten_ to give him one. And then he would have been forced to try and keep warm by layering Dudley's sweaters– none of which were particularly warm to begin with.

"Is that everything?" Ginny asked, looking around the still-packed compartment.

"I think so," Neville replied.

"We'd better head out then," Hermione said, making no move to leave.

"Right," Ron said, equally immobile.

Harry shifted his feet. He knew what they were doing, and he appreciated it, but he was going to have to see the Dursleys eventually. If they were already at the station, it would be better for Harry's well-being if he didn't keep them waiting. And if they weren't here yet, then there was nothing to be gained by delaying their departure from the compartment, because Harry could just as easily spend the time with his friends out on the platform as he could in here.

But Harry was towards the back of the compartment, so he remained still, soaking in the last few moments left before he had to leave his friends for what was sure to be a horrible holiday with the Dursleys.

"So… are we going to move?" Neville asked, after a moment. "Only, my Gran's probably waiting, and she doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a sad look, and Ron pulled the compartment door open. "Guess we ought to go," he said glumly.

Hermione was the first one through the door, and the rest of them filed after her, Ron closing the door behind them.

"So, who's going to be getting you?" Harry asked Ron, just for the sake of conversation while they exited the train.

"Mum, of course, and I think the twins closed the shop for the day," Ron said. "Dad, Bill, Charlie, and Percy are all still busy at work at this time."

Harry nodded. He supposed that meant he would have a long wait, then. Harry was already uncertain if Uncle Vernon would come to get him, and he also knew that there was absolutely no way that Uncle Vernon would take off work to do so.

When they stepped out onto the platform, Harry sucked in a startled breath. It wasn't too terribly cold out, but there was a biting wind that sliced right through his coat, seeming to reach all the way down to his bones. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders to try and conserve as much warmth as possible.

"There's our Mum," Ron said, pointing to where Mrs Weasley was standing on the other side of the station, framed on either side by Fred and George.

Harry quickly shifted his gaze to the rest of the waiting crowd in the half-hearted hope that he would see Uncle Vernon.

"Won't you at least come say hi?" Ron asked plaintively.

Harry was trying to think of a response when he spotted Petunia standing just inside the barrier, as far away from the waiting crowd of parents as she could. He shook his head in response to Ron's question and said, "I can't– Aunt Petunia's here."

He knew that Aunt Petunia would have his head if he pointed at her while they were in a crowd of wizards, so he refrained from doing so. Instead, he took a step over to where she was standing.

"Wait! Give me a hug before you go," Hermione exclaimed, grabbing his hand.

Harry blinked but quickly acquiesced. It was only a brief hug, but it still left Harry feeling off-kilter for some indefinable reason. As soon as Hermione released him, Ginny pulled him into a hug too, one just as brief, but with a tight squeeze at the end that brought a lump to Harry's throat. Finally, Ron grabbed him, hugging him tightly and slapping his back a few times before letting go.

"I have to go guys," Harry said around the lump in his throat, taking another step towards Petunia.

"Goodbye, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes overly shiny.

"Keep an eye out for Pig," Ron said gruffly.

Harry ducked his head in a sharp nod, then spun on his heel and marched towards Petunia before he could truly lose control. He still hadn't spotted Uncle Vernon, but Petunia was no safer to have a break down in front of than Uncle Vernon was.

To that end, he carefully cleared his throat several times on his way over to Petunia. When he drew near, her eyes darted over the crowd before her hand darted out to wrap around his wrist in a tight, painful grip, pressing the tendons to the bone.

"Let's go," she hissed under her breath.

Harry clenched his teeth against his instinct to react, against his desire to pull away from her painful grip, but he knew that pulling away would only upset her, that she would think he was causing a scene.

Petunia flinched violently as she pulled him through the passageway off the platform, but her pace failed to falter or change in any way.

"Where's Uncle–" Harry tried to ask.

"Not now," Petunia snapped.

Harry clamped his mouth shut again, an echo of fear rising within him. He couldn't understand why Petunia would have come alone to retrieve him from the train station; she was utterly terrified of wizards, and there was nowhere else Petunia could access that had a higher concentration of them.

For Aunt Petunia to have braved this trip, something drastic must have occured.

Aunt Petunia's punishing pace meant they arrived at the car in record time. That was another reason that Aunt Petunia's presence could mean nothing good– she must have had to drive Uncle Vernon in to work today to be able to have the car to come pick Harry up, so they would also have to go pick up Uncle Vernon after this.

"Put your– _things _in the boot," Aunt Petunia said.

Harry went to stand by the rear of the car, waiting for Aunt Petunia to press the button that would open the boot. It took another moment in which Harry was left shivering in the wind, but then it opened, and Harry was able to place his duffle and backpack in. He closed the lid, then moved around the car to get in.

For a moment he was frozen with indecision, unable to decide whether Aunt Petunia would want him to sit in the passenger seat or in the back seat. In the back seat he'd be farther away from her, but it would look odd to other people if he was in the back without anyone in the front seat.

Then Aunt Petunia gestured sharply at the passenger seat. Harry pulled the door open and sat down.

Aunt Petunia's eyes shifted to stare straight ahead as she got the car started. "I am not your chauffeur," she said.

Harry nodded, not sure what else to say to that and unwilling to bring up the subject of Uncle Vernon again so soon.

After several long moments spent in utter, awkward silence, Aunt Petunia spoke up again.

"Vernon didn't want either of us to come get you at all."

"Thank–" Harry tried to say, to express his gratitude for Aunt Petunia talking his uncle around.

"But I told him we had to," Aunt Petunia continued, cutting Harry off. "_They_ would have gone spare if we'd left you to languish at the train station, no matter that we're not supposed to have to deal with you until the summer.

"Vernon is rightfully upset about the whole situation. I worry that he may not be able to control himself should he be confronted with your presence. To prevent anything from happening, I will be locking you in your room for the duration of the holidays.

"You will be utterly silent at all times. If that means providing you with duct tape so you don't make those infernal noises in your sleep, then so be it. When Vernon is out, I will let you out to use the toilet and refill your water glass. Otherwise, you will not be leaving your room."

Harry nodded along as she spoke, his hands twisting around in his lap. When she finally stopped speaking, he whispered, "Yes, Aunt Petunia. I'll be quiet."

"You'll be _silent_," Aunt Petunia countered.

Harry nodded again, torn between answering verbally and holding his silence because she expected him to be silent for the entirety of the break. When she failed to express her displeasure at his continued silence, he released a short– but silent– sigh of relief.

But then as the silence stretched out while Aunt Petunia continued to drive, all he had to think on was what she had said. That he would be locked in his room the entire time, that he would need to be utterly silent the entire time.

At least he no longer had to worry about Voldemort-induced nightmares, as those tended to be the most violent– though his regular dreams were as bad as ever, even if they weren't quite as disruptive. Harry hoped he would be able to adequately muffle his cries with his pillow– or maybe with a sweater. Because he was sure that if he made so much as one sound in his sleep, Aunt Petunia would ensure that he never went to sleep again without some kind of gag– duct tape, she had said.

Pushing that thought aside with a shudder, Harry realized what she hadn't mentioned. At no point had she said anything at all about feeding him. Between the summer before his second year when they had fed him and Hedwig a single can of soup a day, and the summer he'd spent on Dudley's diet, Harry knew that they would have no qualms at all about neglecting to feed him.

At least this time he wouldn't have to worry about Hedwig languishing along with him.

But he didn't know for sure that Aunt Petunia would even give him that much food. She had mentioned all his other needs, but she had not mentioned food. That could mean that she wasn't planning to feed him at all– all the better to ensure that he didn't have the energy to make noise and draw Uncle Vernon's wrath.

Harry did the maths to determine how long the break was– about two weeks. Then he tried to remember how long it was said to take a person to starve to death, but he couldn't remember any specific numbers. He didn't think it took less than two weeks, but he couldn't be sure.

Well, he just had to hope that, between Aunt Petunia and Mrs Weasley, he would get enough to survive.

* * *

Severus absently tapped his fingers against his armrest. After Minerva's request that all the students stay safe from Bellatrix over break, she had been inundated by a fleet of owls demanding higher security measures for the train.

He had to scoff at the ridiculousness of it all. The parents would never have thought to harass Dumbledore like that, but now that he was gone, everyone thought they knew how to run Hogwarts best– and therefore they took great joy in informing Minerva of their opinions.

So to alleviate those fears, Minerva had asked Severus to ride the train and guard the platform until all the students had been picked up.

It was far from the worst thing he had ever been asked to do, but he did have better things to do with his time than babysitting the train. Although he did appreciate the chance to see Harry off with his friends. Severus assumed Harry was going home with the Weasleys– or with one of his other friends, since they were all sitting together.

On his periodic patrols of the train, Severus had made a point of checking in on Harry's compartment in particular. Severus told himself that it was because trouble, if it happened, was most likely to break out there. But really he was just taking advantage of the opportunity to see Harry in an environment that was not the strained atmosphere of the Potions classroom.

When the train began its deceleration into the station, Severus got to his feet and hurried towards the exit so he would be the first off the train. The safety of the platform already ought to have been confirmed by the Aurors, but Severus would rather not put the students at risk based on the word of someone else.

So when the train doors opened, Severus drew his wand and hurried out, his eyes scanning the crowds of gathered parents for even a hint of a threat.

It was quickly apparent that there were no threats present, at least for now. Severus kept his wand in his hand and slid it up his sleeve so it would be ready for use at a moment's notice, if need be. Then he began to pace the perimeter of the station, keeping an eye out for trouble.

After perhaps his third or fourth circuit, he spotted the two younger Weasleys and Granger, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. Severus immediately altered his course to greet them.

"Where is Potter?" Severus asked, coming to a halt next to the children.

The two Weasleys exchanged suspicious looks. The Weasley boy opened his mouth, then closed it again when Granger stomped on his foot.

"Harry is going to the Dursleys for the holidays," Granger said.

"Hermione!" hissed the Weasley boy.

"He is an adult!" Granger hissed back, heedless of Severus's continued presence. "He could fix this!"

Severus blinked, Granger's words failing to register for a moment. "Do you have any idea what would possess Potter to do that?" he finally asked.

"He just kept saying it would be too dangerous to go home with us," the Weasley girl said reluctantly.

The other Weasley and Granger both nodded in agreement. Then the Weasley boy said, "I think he thought that if he couldn't be under the Hogwarts wards, his next safest bet would be the blood wards."

But blood wards weren't worth returning to an abusive household. Nothing was.

Severus glanced around the still bustling train station in frustration. He had been ordered to stay here until the station emptied of students, but in light of the news, he wanted nothing more than to get to Minerva and discuss options for fixing the situation.

"I will be addressing the situation as soon as possible," Severus said. Then, a heartbeat later, "I appreciate the information."

"You'd better be," the Weasley boy said, in a tone he probably thought was threatening.

Severus merely glanced at him before resuming his circuit of the station.

When the last student finally, _finally_ stepped through the barrier with their parents a short while later, Severus apparated away to Hogwarts.

It was times like this, when the situation was urgent, that Severus truly disliked the immutability of the Hogwarts wards that prevented him from apparating directly into the castle– or even just to the castle doors. At least Minerva had no intention of beginning the turnover ritual until the day after tomorrow, because Severus needed to speak with her _now_.

The walk through the grounds passed in a blur, as did his passage through the castle to Minerva's office. He called out the password to the gargoyle when he was still halfway down the hallway so that it would have time to get out of his way by the time he got there.

He hurried up the moving staircase, glad to have something to accelerate his speed, as he was quickly becoming fatigued.

Thankfully, Minerva was seated at her desk and doing paperwork when Severus hurried into her office.

"Severus, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Minerva greeted him.

"Were you aware that Potter has gone home to his relatives for the holidays?" he asked.

Minerva's pleasant expression morphed into one of confusion. "No, I assumed he would be visiting the Weasleys since he never came to speak to me about alternate arrangements."

"While at the station, Potter's friends informed me that Potter had gone home because he felt it would be safer there," Severus explained.

"Well, I suppose that is true," Minerva said.

Severus released an aggravated breath. "Yes, but it's not worth it when he is being abused there!"

At this, Minerva sat up attentively. "Abuse? What did you find out? When?"

Severus met her gaze. "I do not have any concrete evidence. Potter has never told me anything specific. But during my time as Eli, I observed behaviours and warning signs that, altogether, have no other possible explanations."

Minerva hissed. "I _told _Albus that they were the worst sort of muggles–" she cut herself off with a shake of her head. A beat later, she continued, "I suppose I should have thought of the possibility that you would uncover something like this when you went undercover. Is there a reason you waited so long to inform me of your discovery?"

"I was hopeful that Potter could be convinced to provide a full confession first. I had believed that there would be time before the end of the school term to coax it out of him."

There was a short silence as Minerva considered this. "I can accept that, though I would have preferred it if you had shared this information with me sooner. That aside, do you have a plan? Without more evidence, we can't permanently remove him from their household or prosecute the family."

Severus tapped his finger against his wand as he thought. "What if it wasn't permanent?" he asked. "I could retrieve Potter from his relatives for the duration of the holidays, and we can use the intervening time between now and end of term to decide how to permanently remove him from their custody."

"That's a sound plan, but where would you take him once you retrieved him?" Minerva asked. "Unfortunately, he still cannot reside here, and if he was already willing to return to an abusive household rather than with his friends, I cannot imagine he would be easily convinced into other alternatives."

"I could take him home with me," Severus heard himself say, the words drawn from his mouth without forethought or consideration. But, a moment later he decided that they were ones that he would have said no matter what.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You would be willing to do that?"

"I am hardly heartless. If this is what it takes to get him out of that household, then I am more than willing to do it," Severus said, trying to hide the indignation he felt. To calm himself further, he reminded himself that Minerva was not privy to his changed opinion of Potter and had no way of knowing that his opinion had changed so dramatically.

"Very well. He will be as safe as anywhere at your home, and you are certainly far more capable of taking care of him," Minerva said.

Severus wondered if that was supposed to be a threat or warning, but decided that she was merely convincing herself of the validity of the plan.

"Unfortunately, my house is not currently in a fit state for a guest," Severus said, attempting to hide his discomfort at the admission. "Several of the rooms require renovation before they will be habitable. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated in expediting the process."

Minerva nodded and began to get to her feet. "I would be happy to help, but I'm afraid we must leave now. I have a meeting in the Ministry later today, and I am sure you wish to retrieve Harry quickly."

"Then let us go," Severus said, walking over to the floo. "I believe the Floo would be the most efficient way to get there."

"After you," Minerva said, gesturing at the pot of floo powder.

Severus nodded and took a handful of powder, tossing it into the flames and calling, "Spinner's End."

* * *

AN: alt chapter title: its not about the journey its abt the Destination 😥✌️ let me know what you thought!


	4. Two Weeks Is A Long Time

Severus stepped out of the fireplace into his dingy sitting room. He took a quick step away from the fireplace, then immediately launched into a series of cleaning spells, the first directed at his own clothing, and then the rest at the room at large.

Minerva appeared a few short seconds later, landing gracefully on the still-grimey hearth. She brushed herself off, then looked around. Severus forced himself to push past the embarrassment he felt at bringing Minerva into his dingey, rundown childhood home and continued casting spells.

"Where would you like me to start, and what, precisely, would you like me to do?" she asked.

Severus glanced at the bookshelf that concealed the entrance to the second floor. He paused his casting and walked over to open it. "You could start by transfiguring this into a normal staircase. Then, once that is completed, the guest bedroom is the first door on the right; do whatever you wish to do to prepare it for Harry's arrival."

"Consider it done," Minerva said, holding out her wand and glaring fiercely at the bookshelf.

The books flew off the shelf, coming to rest in neat piles along the front wall. Severus took one last glance at Minerva's progress, then finished cleaning the living room. Once he was done, he immediately headed into the kitchen.

And so, with little fuss, Severus and Minerva transformed the house from its prior squalor into a comfortable place to live– into a place that Severus could bring Potter home to.

They were standing in the entryway together, surveying their efforts, when Minerva released a reluctant sigh.

"I have to go now," Minerva said, her tone reluctant. "I've delayed long enough, unfortunately. Send me an update tonight, if you will."

"Of course," Severus said.

Without lingering further, Minerva apparated away. Severus took a moment to savor the fact that he was not in her place– the meeting she was going to was bound to be another bureaucratic waste of time.

Severus took one last walk through his home to ensure that it was ready for Harry's arrival. The linen closet was stocked with clean towels, sheets, and blankets– more than enough to ensure Harry's comfort for the duration of the holiday. The bedroom was clean and comfortable now, thanks to Minerva's transfiguration.

Severus could tell that she had decorated it with Harry in mind– it was a near exact replica of the dormitories that Severus had stayed in during his time as Eli.

The kitchen was clean and well stocked with dishes and other supplies. Severus would have to go grocery shopping soon, but that wasn't urgent yet. The living spaces were similarly clean and orderly now. The only spaces that still needed to be seen to were his office and the potions lab in the basement, but since Potter was hardly going to be spending time in either of those places, Severus saw little need to sort them out now.

Walkthrough complete, Severus focused his mind on Arabella Figg's back garden– it was the newly-designated Apparation site for Order members, appointed so to give them a way to quickly reach Potter in an emergency. it had been created after the disaster with the Dementors proved the necessity– and began to spin in place.

Severus disapparated with a quiet pop and reappeared in the garden. Thankfully, Figg appeared to be out based on her failure to rush out of the house in greeting. Severus set out across the garden towards Number 4, Privet Drive.

As always, Severus was disgusted by the smug uniformity of all the houses in the area. It was clear that most, if not all, of the residents here were far more interested in conforming than in anything else.

Severus felt a rising urgency building in his chest as he walked from Figg's house. It felt as though it took even less time to walk through the muggle neighborhood than the walk through Hogwarts' grounds had.

Severus strode up to the Dursley's house– which was clearly marked by a numeral on the mailbox. The car was parked in the driveway, and the lights were on in several of the rooms, so someone had to be home.

He hadn't thought through what he would do with the Dursleys themselves, but he was sure he would come up with something. Preferably something that wouldn't land him in Azkaban. Severus took one last calming breath, sure that his temper was about to be sorely tested, and knocked firmly on the door.

From within, a muffled voice called, "Petunia! The door!"

The door cracked open moments later, concealing the form of Petunia. "Now see here–" she began, likely about to protest the late hour.

"Evening," Severus interrupted, placing a hand on the door and pushing it open the rest of the way. Then he brusquely made his way past Petunia and into the house.

"Snape?" Petunia spluttered. "What are _you_ doing here? Get out of my house!"

"Is there a problem?" the same voice from earlier– Vernon Dursley, Severus guessed– said.

"No, Vernon, dear, just go back to your telly," Petunia called back. Then, quieter, "Get out of my house, Snape."

"Not until I've collected Potter," Severus stated.

"Fine! Good! Take him," Petunia said, still controlling her volume. "Up the stairs, second door on the left. Just be _quiet_ about it."

Severus glanced up the stairs, then back at Petunia. He tossed her a disdainful look and refrained from responding, instead making his way up the stairs.

He came to a halt outside the aforementioned door and was shocked into stillness. He stared in blank astonishment at the door that bore no fewer than six separate locks, all bolted from the outside.

* * *

When they got back to the house from the train station, Aunt Petunia had wasted no time in ushering Harry up the stairs and into his room.

"If you've brought anything– _out of the ordinary_– I don't want to hear it, and I do not want to see it. If I see it, I will confiscate it, and I may not give it back," Aunt Petunia said from the doorway.

Harry set his duffle on his bed, then turned to face her and nodded. He had decided it was in his best interests to just be silent over the entire break, regardless of Uncle Vernon's presence, so he wouldn't forget or make a mistake.

"Good. Don't forget– if you make a single sound, you _will_ regret it," Aunt Petunia said. Then she took a step out of Harry's room and shut the door. The familiar sound of lock after lock sliding into place filled his room.

Harry settled himself onto his hard, springy mattress and stared blankly at the wall until he heard the sound of Aunt Petunia driving off. With the house now empty– Dudley likely off at some friend's house– Harry pushed himself off the bed and went to unpack.

But as he stared at the clothing he'd shoved into his bag, he had to ask himself what the point was. It wasn't like Petunia would be taking him into public over the break, nor would she be spending enough time in his room to care if he unpacked or not. So why should he bother?

He shouldn't, he decided. He opened his wardrobe and set the duffle onto the bottom. It was only two weeks that he would be living out of the bag, anyways.

Then Harry laid down on top of his threadbare blanket and stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long break with nothing to do– he didn't have Hedwig, so he couldn't write to his friends, and he hadn't brought any school work, so he couldn't even do that. The impending emptiness of the break filled his mind, and he began to drift aimlessly.

Some time later, his stomach began to rumble. Harry quickly placed a hand over it to try and calm it. His nerves over coming back to this place had kept him from eating much at breakfast or at lunch on the train, a situation he now regretted.

Two weeks was an awfully long time, and Aunt Petunia had still made no mention of feeding him.

Harry just had to hope he would quickly reach the point where his stomach stopped rumbling, otherwise Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia might hear, and then he'd really get it.

Maybe if he laid on his stomach with his pillow underneath, that would muffle the noises well enough until it stopped.

It was hard to say if it worked– the angry sounds seemed as audible as ever, but that could just have been because he was so close to the source. This was about the only thing he could think of to alleviate the problem, though, so he just had to hope it was working.

In his new position, Harry stared down, past his floorboard and to the ground, and thought absently that maybe he ought to try and sweep out underneath his bed once his stomach had settled. It would, at the very least, be something to do.

Harry decided as he stared at a particularly large dust bunny, that he had a hard time believing that Aunt Petunia would maintain her stance that he would spend the _entire_ break locked in his room.

Once Uncle Vernon was out of the house for work, Aunt Petunia would realize that here Harry was, taking space up in her home and perfectly capable of doing chores.

Well, Harry amended, _probably_ capable of doing chores. He'd never gone a full two weeks without food before, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to do much after a couple days without anything at all.

On the bright side, his stomach seemed to have subsided. With a sigh, Harry got up off his bed and dragged his desk chair over to the window. He hoped that the view, even a view marred as his was by bars, would help him keep his mind occupied with things that weren't his immediate future.

And so the time passed. Harry got to watch the sun go down, but then the view from his window was little better than his blank wall.

The next thing he knew, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were coming into the house, startling him out of the stupor he had fallen into.

Immediately, his heart began to pound. He knew that Aunt Petunia had planned to keep them separate, to keep Uncle Vernon as ignorant of Harry's presence as possible. But that didn't stop Harry from being afraid that Uncle Vernon would decide to come and express his displeasure.

When Uncle Vernon was stressed, upset, or simply displeased, he would always, without fail, take it out on Harry. There was nothing Harry could do to avoid it, nothing he could do to protect himself– he couldn't even predict when it would happen. Uncle Vernon's moods were too capricious to allow that.

At very least, Vernon's presence did give Harry something to relieve the monotony with since the walls of the house were thin and the sounds of conversation and the telly carried easily.

Harry was attempting to hear the news on the telly, when he blinked in surprise at the unexpected sound of a knock at the door.

Uncle Vernon called for Aunt Petunia to get it, which she quickly did. Then Harry nearly fell out of his chair in shock, because the next thing he heard was _Snape's_ voice.

Snape.

On Privet Drive.

Harry's mind began to race as he tried to figure out what the hell the man was doing there. Was it not enough that he had betrayed Harry? Now he had to come and disrupt Harry's holiday.

Harry was startled, then, by Aunt Petunia. She demanded, in a tone that nobody would ever call polite, "What are _you_ doing here? Get out of my house!"

Harry wished he could have seen it. Though– for Petunia to have been so rude, Snape must have been dressed blatantly like a wizard, which did _not_ bode well for Harry.

Then Uncle Vernon asked, "Is there a problem?"

Harry crossed his fingers in the hopes that Aunt Petunia would say yes. Uncle Vernon would clearly stand no chance against Snape, but Uncle Vernon's attempts to bluster his way through a confrontation would be enough entertainment to last for a while.

Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia just told him to go back to his telly. Then the murmurs of conversation continued too quiet, this time, for Harry to make out the words.

When Harry heard the sound of footsteps of the stairs, he got soundlessly to his feet. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he wished he could use his wand. The footsteps came to a halt outside his door, and Harry's breath became as labored, as if he'd just finished up at Quidditch practice.

At the sound of the locks being undone one by one, Harry stumbled until his back was pressed up against his window. Were it not for the bars, Harry might have decided to just jump out the window and risk breaking a bone. Because it could only be Snape outside his door, preparing to come in– and Harry had put a lot of effort into avoiding the man.

And Harry still could not think of a single motive for the man to be here.

The door opened, and the sight of Snape in his room at the Dursleys was nearly enough to send Harry into a fit of hysterics– the incongruity of Snape in his dour teaching robes against the backdrop of Harry's Muggle room was inexplicably hilarious.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything as Harry stared in astonishment. Then Harry dropped his eyes to the ground and struggled to get a grip on his racing heart and errant lungs.

"Mr Potter, please calm down. I am here to help," Snape said, empty hands held out, placating.

Before he could think better of it, Harry spat out, "I don't need your help, _Snape_."

Then Harry realized what he'd just done– his door was still open and he had been _loud_. He looked back at Snape, who had failed to react. That was good, but Harry was sure that if he refused to respond now, Snape would inevitably get mad at him, and nothing good could come of that. But Aunt Aunt Petunia had also ordered Harry to be silent, and Uncle Vernon was home at the moment, so if he responded, Aunt Petunia would get mad at him– madder, since Harry had already messed up.

There was no way that Harry could win.

"I have come to take you away from here," Snape continued.

Away? Harry couldn't leave– he had nowhere else to go that wouldn't put someone more important than him in danger. He wordlessly shook his head, hoping that maybe Snape would just leave.

"You cannot possibly _want_ to stay here," Snape said.

This was enough to pull words from Harry. "Of course I don't," he snapped quietly, voice barely louder than a whisper. "But it's not like I have anywhere else to go."

"Of course you have places to go– I can think of half a dozen offhand," Snape countered, still just as loud as he had been. Harry prayed Aunt Petunia wouldn't blame him for Snape's volume.

Harry tossed his head, denying Snape's words. "Nowhere that's as safe as it is here," he replied, just as quietly as before.

Snape stared at him for a moment, face as devoid of expression as ever. Harry brought his hand behind his back and crossed his fingers, hoping Snape would realize that Harry was right and _go_ _away. _

"What makes you think that this house is so very safe?" Snape asked, finally lowering his voice to match Harry's volume.

Harry hesitated, unsure if he should tell him. Though it looked like he wasn't going to have a choice in the matter, because Snape was still standing there, expectant.

"There are blood wards here," Harry said reluctantly. "From my mum's sacrifice."

Snape nodded. "Her sacrifice to protect you from Voldemort, you mean?"

Harry nodded.

"And did you not think that the blood wards would fail with the death of the reason for Lily's sacrifice?" Snape asked.

Harry froze, the implications of this sinking in. He was glad that he was leaning against the wall, because he could now reach out to place his hand on it, as he needed the support of something stable. Without the blood wards he had nowhere else to go– he had no reason to stay at the Dursley's, but he still couldn't bring himself to endanger his friends by going to them.

"There's no wards?" Harry whispered, hopelessly wishing Snape would laugh and say it was all a joke– a lie, like Snape's existence as Eli had been.

"Not anymore," Snape said.

Harry collapsed onto his chair, placing his face in his hands, no longer caring that Snape was there to witness his weakness. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself, voice the quietest of whispers. Two weeks spent at the Dursley's– hungry and alone– seemed so much longer now that there was no real _reason_ for him to be here.

"I spoke with Minerva," Snape said. "She agreed that my home is adequately safe for you to stay at."

Harry lifted his face from his hands, incredulous. Snape couldn't be saying what Harry thought he was.

The silence between them stretched out as Harry continued to stare at Snape.

"Did you not understand? I thought I made myself perfectly clear." Snape finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry shook his head in response. "You can't mean it," he said.

"I can, and I do, but to be perfectly clear, Mr Potter, you are invited to spend the holidays at my house," Snape said.

Harry continued to stare at Snape for a moment before his eyes shifted to the wall behind the man. Did he want to go with Snape? Not particularly, but with the news that there were no blood wards protecting Privet Drive, he had no other choice.

And surely it was better to go with Snape to his home– where Harry would only be endangering someone who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Because Harry's mere presence was enough to put anyone around him in danger. And, though Harry knew it was selfish of him, he felt significantly better about putting Snape in danger than he did about endangering his friends.

If Harry was able to survive 11 years with the Dursleys, and every summer since then, surely he could handle two weeks with Snape.

"Alright," Harry said, getting up from his chair. "If you're sure."

"I am," Snape said.

Harry crossed the room to his wardrobe and picked up his duffle. Then he went back over to his bed and pulled his backpack on. "I'm ready to go," he said.

"Do not forget, you will not be coming back here," Snape said. "So if there is anything else you would like to take with you, now is the time to pack it."

Harry had a hard time believing he would not have to come back here again, but he obligingly gave the room a glance over, confirming what he already knew. There was nothing here for him, nothing except the lingering memories of long, nightmarish summers.

"I'm ready to go," he repeated.

Snape pulled the door open and walked out of the room first. Harry trailed behind him, carefully closing the door as he went.

"So you are taking him," Aunt Petunia said from the foyer below.

"I am," Snape replied.

Then Aunt Petunia smiled nastily, and Harry instinctively braced himself.

"When you realize what an irksome burden he is, don't bother bringing him back here, Snape. He is no longer welcome."

Snape halted, one foot still on the staircase, and then pulled out his wand. "If you value your continued well-being, I would not say such things," Snape said, his voice low and threatening.

Aunt Petunia's mouth closed with an audible click of her teeth.

Then Snape glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who had also stopped moving.

Snape turned back to face Aunt Petunia. "If you had even one iota of care left for Lily, I would tell you that you would one day regret how you have treated the last remnants of her blood. But it is beyond clear that any love you held for her is long gone, so all I have to say to you is: I hope it was worth it."

Harry stared in confusion at Snape's back as the man finished dismounting the stairs and pulled the front door open. He gestured for Harry to precede him out of the house. Harry obliged without even a glance behind him at the house he had grown up in.

Snape followed him out and passed him on the walkway. Harry quickly matched his pace, trailing a meter or two behind him.

"Where are we going– sir?" Harry asked, realizing that if he was going to be living in the man's house, under his authority, he ought to address him respectfully.

"To Arabella Figg's house. The apparition point for this area is there, and I would prefer not to risk being seen by Muggles, so we will take the time to go there to Apparate."

This didn't tell Harry what he really wanted to know– which was anything at all about their final destination– but he was loath to continue to pester Snape. Not over something so trivial, not when Snape was already going to put up with Harry's presence for the next two weeks.

They made it to Mrs Figg's house in no time. Snape guided them around the house and into the garden. Harry hoped they had permission to be back here– it felt wrong to be trespassing on her property without even dropping in to see her first.

There was a secluded spot tucked between the tree and the garden shed that Snape guided them over to. After cramming himself as far back towards the fence as he could go, Snape gestured to the small amount of space left over and said, "Come, stand here."

Harry did not want to stand so close to the man, but again, Harry would be living with him, and nothing good ever came of antagonizing those he lived with. So Harry shoved down his discomfort and went to stand where Snape had indicated.

"Have you ever apparated before?" Snape asked.

"No, sir," Harry said.

"This may be an unpleasant experience for you, then," Snape said. Then he held out his arm and continued, "You need to grip my arm tightly– do _not_ let go or you will end up splinched."

It took Harry a moment to work up the resolve to grab the proffered arm. As soon as he did, Snape contorted his body into a spin, and Harry felt the exceedingly uncomfortable sensation of being compressed on all sides, then sucked through a straw.

Moments later, they landed. Harry had just enough time to see that they were in a kitchen before he dropped to his knees, one arm planted firmly on the ground, the other wrapped around his stomach, which was once again gurgling loudly.

Harry groaned inaudibly and closed his eyes, trying to shove down the pain in his stomach. A moment later, the pain receded, and Harry was able to clamber to his feet. He kept his head ducked, sure there was a blush of shame discoloring his face. He had been able to survive being pulled to Voldemort, but simple apparation brought him to his knees with nausea.

"Are you alright, Potter? I have stomach-calming potions available, if you need one," Snape said.

"I'm alright, thank you, sir," Harry said.

In the long pause that followed, Harry did his best to survey his surroundings without lifting his head. They were standing in a meticulously clean kitchen. A Muggle kitchen, Harry realized, spotting the ordinary gas stove and refrigerator. The thought of Snape possessing a Muggle kitchen was oddly incongruous to Harry, who, if asked, would have assumed that Snape was a pureblood.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Snape asked.

Harry held himself still as his mind raced, considering the question. Here he was in Snape's kitchen– for unfathomable reasons– and Snape was offering to give him a _tour_. There was no way the offer was genuine. "That's alright, sir."

In the following silence, he tried to find the words to ask where he would be staying. He wasn't certain it would be a proper room, and he didn't want to anger Snape or imply that he was spoiled by making that assumption. "But– uh, if you could show me where to put my things?" Harry decided on.

"Of course. Follow me," Snape said, striding out of the kitchen.

Harry snatched his duffle from where he'd dropped it and hurried after. As they passed through the house, Harry caught brief glimpses of clean, well-kept rooms. Harry thought it was a little odd that the staircase to the first floor was in the living room, but he kept this to himself.

At the top of the stairs, Snape opened the first door on the right and gestured for Harry to precede him into it. Harry's jaw dropped and he blinked a few times to be sure that he hadn't imagined the room in front of him. Whatever Harry had been expecting of the room Snape was guiding him to, this had not been it.

It looked as though the Gryffindor common room had been transplanted into Snape's house. The walls were painted the same warm red, and the trim was all soft gold. On the wood floor, there was a patterned rug that Harry thought he had seen in the common room.

Harry drifted further into the room and ran his hand down the hangings around the bed. These hangings could have been pulled right from his dorm. It was all so familiar– it felt just like Hogwarts, the only place he'd ever felt truly at home.

And then Harry was jarred by this realization. The realization that he could feel _at home_ in Snape's house.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Snape was still standing in the doorway, watching him. Harry cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir," Harry said, hoping Snape could hear his sincerity.

It would hurt far more to lose this room now that he had it than if he had never seen it at all, so Harry wanted to make sure that Snape knew his gratitude was genuine.

"Think nothing of it," Snape said. "Meals are at 8am, 1pm, and 7pm."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, not sure what else to say.

Then Snape nodded and left, heading down the stairs.

Harry waited until he heard Snape dismount the stairs, then wandered over to the door. Snape had left it open, leaving Harry torn with indecision over whether that meant he was allowed to close it or not.

In the end, he decided that Snape would be more mad if the door was left open and Harry ended up disturbing him with noise. So he closed it, noting as he did so that the door locked from the inside.

This observation caused Harry to hurry over to the window and pull aside the curtains– red, like his bed hangings– to see whether there were bars. He couldn't see any bars– but it was dark out, so he calmed himself before he could get too excited.

To confirm the absence of bars on his window, Harry grabbed the handles along the window sash and cracked the window open, slipping his hand out and running it along the bottom of the window. There were no bars.

There were no bars on the window and the door locked from the inside and the room was furnished like Gryffindor Tower, like the closest thing to home that Harry had ever known.

None of this made any sense at all. Snape hated him, Snape had lied to him, Snape had betrayed him. And yet– it seemed like Snape had prepared a room for him to stay in and like he was planning to feed Harry three times a day.

Harry couldn't imagine what could have driven Snape to do all that.

Unless– unless he hadn't chosen to.

Professor McGonagall had probably sent Snape to get Harry from the Dursleys– to make sure Bellatrix wouldn't be able to get to him. And McGonagall had probably needed to facilitate everything as much as possible to make Snape agree to do it, so she had probably been the one to set this room up, since Harry could not imagine Snape doing this.

Of course, she would be too busy to keep an eye on Snape for the whole of the vacation, so Harry couldn't count on her to keep Snape from mistreating him entirely.

Harry wondered how long it would take Snape to drop the veneer of civility he had adopted. Because as time wore on, he was sure to get sick of Harry's presence and lash out.

It was inevitable, after all. Much like the Dursleys, Snape did not like Harry and had not wanted to take him in, but he had been forced to by circumstances and meddling outsiders. So, much like the Dursleys, Snape would eventually realize that no one was watching. That no one would care what happened to Harry, so long as he returned to Hogwarts more or less in one piece.

Harry would just have to stay on his guard. It wouldn't do for him to be caught unaware when Snape could change his mind at any moment.

* * *

AN: so the GOAL is an update every weekend at least, but things are. interesting. at the moment, so I am hesitant to commit to an update schedule. the best i can do is tell y'all to subscribe so you're notified when i do post

anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! harry is away from the dursleys and we have a Whole lot of interactions between snape and harry ahead of us :D please let me know what you thought in the reviews!


	5. A Not-At-All-Awkward Family Dinner

Severus sank down heavily into his favorite armchair. It had already been a long day, and it wasn't even dinner time yet.

The exhaustion of a long day had settled in long ago– possibly after his conversation with Harry's friends, and if not then, then after he had caught sight of the locks on Harry's door. Severus had _known_ that Harry was mistreated at home– both from the scars on Harry's back and from the state of his clothing, but the sight of that door had reiterated the fact like nothing else had.

Harry was a prisoner in the place that was supposed to be home.

And that had been further reinforced by the bars on his window and the spartan state of the room itself. The bed had been covered in a dingy, threadbare blanket and the only pillow on the bed had been so flat as to be nearly useless. The desk had been held stable only by a book wedged under one of the legs. The walls had been unpainted and devoid of decoration and the carpeting had been rough and littered with dark stains.

And as if the condition of his room hadn't been disturbing enough, Harry himself had been even more so. Severus noted that Harry had been dressed in ill-fitting rags– the same ones that Severus had removed the stains from as Eli. Far more obvious– and concerning– had been the sheer panic Harry had regarded him with.

From the boy's reaction, Severus would have assumed that he, Severus, was a Death Eater there to take Harry to Voldemort, or even Voldemort himself.

Ignoring his urge to linger on this observation, Severus instead focused on the following conversation. It had been as enlightening as it was saddening, despite its promising start. Harry's defiance as he told Severus that he didn't need any help was equal parts relieving and irritating. But that had been the last bout of spirit Harry had displayed since.

All this together had left Severus with no qualms about lying to the boy about the state of the wards. The truth was that the blood wards would protect Harry against all who would harm him until he was an adult– or until he no longer considered that place his home. Unfortunately, the wards failed to protect Harry from the other residents- from his relatives– which was a glaring loophole. At least, obvious to Severus, who understood what it meant to be unsafe at home.

This understanding made Severus more than willing to lie. If telling the boy that the wards had fallen was what it took to remove him from an abusive household, then so be it.

And then there had been Harry's reaction once Severus had talked him around to leaving the Dursleys. He had begun calling Severus 'sir' and had become far more deferential, more obedient– more fearful.

Gone was the defiant boy Severus was used to– the one who stood up to him in class, who lied to his face, even when caught red-handed.

Once, Severus would have thought that he would be delighted to see an obedient and respectful Harry Potter– like the one Severus had just brought into his home. But now he found that he did not care for this Harry at all– that he missed Harry's spirit.

It was clear that the changes in the boy's behavior were because he was trying to meet the standards set by those he lived with. And he clearly now saw Severus in the same role that his abusive relatives had.

As upsetting as this was, as angry as Severus wanted to be, he just couldn't find it in himself. How could he, when he knew all too well what it was like to be in that position? And of course, Severus's history of interactions with the boy would not be reassuring, either. He was sure that the years of harassment– both in and out of the classroom– could not be easily forgotten.

All the same, Severus was now more determined than ever to earn the boy's trust and to ensure his holiday was as comfortable as possible.

Severus looked at the clock and saw that it was about time for him to begin preparing dinner. He got to his feet, and after a glance up the stairs towards Harry's room, made his way into the kitchen.

The ingredients in his cupboards were just enough for him to put together a batch of chili, so Severus got to work, pulling out the things he would need.

In no time at all, he had the chili simmering on the stove. Severus sat down at the kitchen table with the latest Potions Quarterly and did his best to peruse it, but he was unable to muster the concentration necessary to do so.

His thoughts were still entirely too focused on the boy who now resided in his guest room. The boy who must be under the impression that he had gone from one location where he was hated to another– and Severus could hardly begin to think of how to correct him on this. Too much, too fast would just set him more on his guard– thus making Severus's overtures useless. And of course, Severus could only bring himself to be so solicitous; he was never going to be Molly Weasley or Poppy Pomfrey.

He just had to hope that whatever he could offer Harry would be enough.

Severus sighed and checked the time again. Ten minutes left. He glanced at the open journal sitting on the table in front of him and closed it. He was not going to get anywhere with that- not now, anyways.

He hauled himself to his feet and set about ensuring that everything would be ready for dinner. He adjusted the spices in the chili, set the table, and served the meal, flowing from one task to the other with the efficiency acquired from years of practice.

Once the table was set and the chili was served, there was nothing else left to do. It was time to retrieve Harry from his room; Severus could either call the boy down or go up to retrieve him.

He was still standing by the kitchen table, dithering between the two options, when Harry solved the problem by coming into the kitchen. Severus concealed his mild shock at Harry's sudden appearance– though he must not have done so soon enough, because a shuttered look came over Harry's face. He took a step backwards, back into the doorway and nearly out of the kitchen.

"Have a seat, Mr Potter," Severus said, taking his own seat and gesturing to the one across from it.

Harry still looked unsure, but he did take his seat. For once, Severus was glad that his kitchen table was– by necessity– so small. If given a choice, Severus knew that Harry would have sat much further away.

Severus had already served the meal into bowls, but he now wondered if he ought to have left that for Harry to do himself, if only to give Harry some small measure of control over the situation. At the next meal, Severus would leave Harry to serve himself and see if it set him more at ease.

Harry had yet to make a move towards his food, so to try and take some of the pressure off of him, Severus dug into his own bowl of chili. He couldn't help his frequent glances at Harry, though he did do his best to be discrete about it. However, he did not like what he saw.

Harry's shoulders were hunched down, his head bent over his bowl, his posture stiff. Severus had already made a respectable dent in his meal, but Harry had yet to even touch his own. Severus had no idea if Harry had dietary restrictions, but before he could ask if Harry could even eat chili, or even offer to order takeout instead, Harry at last started to eat.

Harry launched into his meal, shoveling his food down in such a way that Severus was concerned he might choke or give himself indigestion. Severus was concerned that a suggestion to slow down would be taken the wrong way, so in lieu of that, Severus decided that the easiest way to get Harry to slow down would be to make conversation.

And if that had the side effect of allowing Severus to begin to bridge the gap between them, then all the better.

Severus cleared his throat. "I hope you are settling in well. I believe I ensured that all the necessities are well-stocked, but I could have missed something."

The sudden conversation startled Harry into looking up from where he had been hunched over his chili. "It's all fine, sir," Harry said, wide eyes meeting Severus's for only a moment before he returned to staring at his meal.

Severus restrained his irritation with the boy– Harry was already frightened, so it would only make things worse if Severus were to snap at him and demand more verbose answers. Several steadying breaths later, Severus felt calm enough to try again.

"Well, if anything turns out to not be _fine_, do tell me sooner rather than later," Severus said.

The fleeting look Harry gave him made it clear that Severus had not succeeded in calming the boy. The task of earning Harry's trust was looking more and more insurmountable the more Severus interacted with him.

Severus continued to observe Harry as he ate and was pleased to see that the conversation had, at the very least, had a moderating effect on Harry's pace.

The longer the silence reigned, the more tension seemed to seep out of Harry's shoulders.

Was Severus truly that frightening? It seemed as though Severus's continued silence was all it took to relax Harry– suggesting that it was possibly Severus's words that Harry feared, or even just the reminders of Severus's presence.

Perhaps Harry had just taken a bit of time to settle down, though. If this were the case, then Severus could attempt a conversation again– this time with an actual chance of success.

"I spoke with Minerva today," Severus began, thinking that this would at least be a topic that Harry would care about, but also one that would not obligate him to respond. "She intends to begin the ward ritual with the dawn. I do not envy her the task in the slightest– she also had a meeting at the Ministry this evening, so I cannot imagine she will be getting much rest tonight."

Severus paused then, both to pour himself more water from the pitcher, and also to see how Harry had reacted. Some of the tension had returned to Harry's shoulders, and the fleeting look Harry gave Severus was still far more timid than he would have liked.

"The Ministry?" Harry asked, uncertain. "What have they got to do with anything?"

Severus had succeeded, then– he must have, because Harry was actually engaging with him. He stored away his satisfaction to savor later. Once he was in private and could take down his neutral mask without concern for how his reactions would affect Harry.

"Yes, the Ministry. I am unsure what the alleged purpose of the meeting is, but I have to assume that the true goal is to attempt to destabilize Minerva's position, with the ultimate goal of installing one of their people in her place."

At this, a large amount of anxiety flooded into Harry's demeanor, so Severus hurried on to reassure him.

"Of course, Minerva is well aware of this, and she is more than prepared to handle anything they attempt. She views the whole exercise as more of a test of her patience than anything else because it is all so very dull."

Harry nodded, not quite relaxing, but no longer as tense as he had been. His eyes dropped back to his bowl. Severus followed his gaze and saw that Harry's bowl was empty.

Severus felt a twinge of regret at this, sure that Harry would, at any moment now, use his empty bowl as an excuse to escape to his room. In anticipation of Harry's departure, Severus allowed the silence to fall between them once more.

The last thing Severus wanted was for Harry to associate mealtimes with feelings of anxiety– the boy was already far too thin– so he hoped the silence would allow dinner to end on a positive note.

But time continued to pass, and Harry failed to get up from his seat.

In fact, Harry failed to do much of anything at all. After he had set his fork down, he had placed his hands in his lap and continued to sit in silence.

Severus couldn't help but wonder what was bringing the boy to linger at the table– he had nothing in his bowl, and he wasn't even sipping at his glass of water.

The mystery of Harry's continued presence was solved when Severus caught the lingering look Harry sent at the pot of chili.

"You may have more," Severus said, without further thought.

When Harry jumped, a look of guilt on his face, Severus wondered if he had taken the right approach. It may have been better if Severus had waited to offer until he was getting himself food– to make it less obvious that Severus had caught Harry looking.

"There is plenty more," Severus added, to make up for his thoughtless approach.

With hesitant motions, Harry reached out and took hold of the ladle resting next to the pot of chili.

Severus focused his gaze on his own bowl, to take some of the pressure off of Harry.

He was still able to hear the sound of Harry serving himself. Once Severus heard Harry set his plate back down, he looked up just in time to catch the tail-end of a grateful look that Harry sent his way.

It was this look, this _gratitude_ for something that was a basic need, that made Severus well and truly regret that he had not done more to exact revenge on the Dursleys.

Then Harry was once again engrossed in his food, though he had not returned to his previous, furious pace, to Severus's relief.

Unsure what to say, Severus decided to take the easy way out and say nothing at all.

His thoughts were still lingering on the Dursleys, anyways. He couldn't help but hope that, in the course of permanently removing Harry from their custody, an opportunity to exact proper revenge would arise.

Severus served himself a touch more food, still focused on the dilemma that was Harry's future. It was clear that Harry's time with his relatives had had a greater effect on him than he had let on at Hogwarts.

Severus had to wonder if Harry had behaved in this way– timid, fearful– when staying with the Weasley brood or while at headquarters. Severus certainly hoped Harry hadn't, because if he had, that meant that the Weasleys and the mutt had been far more useless and ignorant than Severus had ever thought they could be.

And that was saying something, since Severus had never held them in very high esteem in the first place.

The sound of Harry setting his spoon down brought Severus's attention back to the present.

Once again, Harry's bowl was empty. This time Severus felt less regret about his impending departure. After Harry had left, Severus would hurry through the rest of his meal and cleaning the dishes so he could write up the update that Minerva had asked for.

He certainly had enough insights to put in it.

Except Harry failed to get up. Severus kept a close eye on him, watching to see if he would glance at the remaining chili– an action that would indicate that he was lingering for more food.

But Harry's eyes remained fixed on the wall for the most part, only occasionally drifting to the kitchen door.

Severus could not fathom why Harry would linger when he wanted to leave.

It wasn't until Harry glanced at him that Severus realized what Harry was doing. Harry was waiting to be dismissed before he left the table.

This was a behavior outside the scope of Severus's experience. Growing up, Severus had rarely had sit-down dinners with his parents– and for good reason. His father had often been passed out drunk by the time dinner had come around, and on the occasions where he had been conscious, dinner was a rushed affair. An affair that Severus had been all too eager to escape, and one that nobody had cared to prolong.

Seeing the way Harry was sitting, waiting to be dismissed, made Severus grateful that sit-down dinners had never been routine enough for that particular behavior to be expected of him.

Severus set his spoon down, any lingering appetite of his own now gone.

"You don't have to wait to be dismissed," Severus said.

Harry's head whipped around from where it had been directed at the wall to meet Severus's eyes.

"Oh, uh, thank you, sir," Harry said, hesitant.

Harry still did not move. Severus considered his options. If he shooed the boy out of the kitchen, Harry would probably take it the wrong way, so that was out.

After closer scrutiny of the boy, Severus realized that Harry seemed to have something else to say, so Severus held his silence.

"I was waiting for you to finish, sir," Harry began, deliberate. "But if you would like me to get started on cleaning up now, I can."

Severus was already shaking his head before the boy had finished speaking. "I will be doing the washing up," he said, firm enough to discourage dissent.

Severus might not know all that had gone on in Petunia's house, but he could extrapolate enough to know that there was more behind Harry's attempt to do the dishes than a simple attempt to be helpful. And until he did know more, he thought it would be best to try and shake Harry out of the habits and behaviors he had learned from Petunia.

Harry frowned, forehead creasing, and shook his head. "But–"

Severus merely quirked his eyebrow up, and Harry cut himself off.

"If you're sure," Harry said instead, dubious.

"I am."

Severus watched as Harry got to his feet and walked out of the kitchen, pausing to send one last doubtful look. Severus remained impassive throughout the brief scrutiny until Harry dropped his gaze and hurried the rest of the way out of the kitchen.

Solitude at last. For the rest of the evening, too, if Severus was at all on the mark.

He quickly finished the rest of his meal and gathered the dishes from the table.

Severus would often wash his dishes by hand– a habit picked up from the necessity of hand-washing cauldrons– but he rather thought the day had already been long enough without the addition of standing at the sink as he washed the dishes.

He felt odd about spelling the dishes clean and sending them into the cabinets with a wave of his wand, but he knew he was justified in hurrying through his routine, especially on a day like today. Therefore, he also shot a few general cleaning spells at the counters and stoves to finish the job.

With the kitchen clean, Severus strode into his study to begin composing his letter to Minerva. He lamented the necessity of writing a letter. He would much prefer to bring his concerns directly to her.

But with the ward ritual looming so near, and her meeting at the Ministry, Minerva would need all the rest she could get tonight.

She did still want an update, however, so Severus set about summarizing his encounter with the Dursleys. Then, for good measure, he continued on to discuss how Harry was settling in and how important Severus now knew it to be that they remove Harry from the Dursley's custody before he could spend another second with them.

It was cathartic, in a way, to be able to speak of all the things that had been on his mind all afternoon. Things that he could not speak of with just anyone.

Once the letter was completed, he sent it off with his owl, Atari. Then he summoned Potions Quarterly from where he'd left it and settled in for an evening of catching up on the latest innovations from around the world.

* * *

AN: thank you all for reading! hope everyone is staying safe, and to those of you quarantined, feel free to use your extra time to tell me what you thought :D


	6. What to Do When You're Left Alone

Harry made sure the door was silent as he closed it behind him.

Dinner had not been what he had expected it to be.

When Harry had gone down for the meal, he had expected Snape to be waiting with instructions on what to cook for dinner. Instead, he had found that the table had already been set and that the food had already been served.

Then there had been the end of the meal.

Harry had remained in his seat, waiting for Snape to leave so Harry could do the cleanup. But then Snape had offered him more food– likely because Harry had kept glancing at all the food left, giving away his lingering hunger.

After that, Harry's gratitude had made him more than happy to remain in his seat as he waited for Snape to finish his dinner.

There had been little to occupy Harry's attention while he had waited, so he had done his best to remain unobtrusive by directing his gaze at the wall or off into the distance.

Harry hadn't been entirely successful, though, because Snape had caught him trying to gauge how much longer it would take Snape to finish his meal.

The Dursleys hadn't liked it much when he'd done that with them, either, so Harry had braced himself for the tirade he was sure would spill forth.

Except, it hadn't.

Instead of yelling at Harry, Snape had attempted to dismiss him from the came to the conclusion that it was as though Snape had thought Harry'd lingered just to obtain permission to leave.

Because Snape had been the one to cook dinner, he must think that Harry was spoiled. Only someone as spoiled as Dudley would try to slip away when it was clearly their job– Harry's job, in this case– to clean up.

Really, Harry should have been the one to cook dinner, too. McGonagall had forced Snape to take Harry in; Snape shouldn't have to do work to feed Harry, too.

And yet, when Harry had said he was waiting around to clean up, Snape had just told him to leave it.

None of this made _sense_. This was above and beyond what McGonagall could possibly have made Snape do.

A realization dawned on Harry, sharp and painful and clear. Snape must have some kind of ulterior motive for all of this. For allowing a room in his house to be turned into a miniature version of the Gryffindor dorms, for allowing Harry to have seconds, for not yelling at Harry for staring, for not allowing Harry to help with the cleanup.

Because the man hated Harry. Why else would Snape have treated Harry– and all of Harry's friends– so abominably over the years? Why else would he have lied to Harry and pretended to be his friend?

Maybe that was it. Maybe– because Harry hadn't given Snape the satisfaction of seeing his hurt from the betrayal– Snape had decided to try again. By trying to build Harry's trust in him now, he would eventually be able to bring Harry crashing back down.

A small voice in Harry's head whispered that Snape _had_ taken an Avada Kedavra for him– Snape had tried to give his life for Harry's. Harry squashed the voice back down. Snape had expected Harry to be the one to defeat Voldemort at that point, so Harry had to be kept alive until he managed that.

Snape _had_ been spying on Voldemort for years, risking his life to get information for the Order, so it only stood to reason that he would be willing to sacrifice his life for the cause.

Because if Snape's attempted sacrifice had meant anything, then it meant the other things Snape had done for Harry since then might be genuine. And the thought of that made Harry feel all twisted up inside– uncomfortable, like the world had been tilted on its side.

So Harry squashed down the memory of Snape shoving him out of the way of the Killing Curse and resolved to stay on his guard against Snape's inevitable betrayal.

It was safer that way.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up as bright and early as he always did, thanks to years of conditioning by Aunt Petunia. He stayed in bed, though, because he was hesitant to move about the house before Snape was awake.

Harry didn't want the man to think he was up to something by sneaking around.

Eventually, Harry heard movement from Snape's room and decided that it was safe for him to get up. The loo that Harry had used the night before seemed intended for guests, so Harry had to assume that Snape had his own en suite. It was probably safe, then, for Harry to use the loo without waiting for Snape to finish up first.

So he completed his morning routine in relative peace, then hurried down to the kitchen. Since Snape _had_ made dinner the night before– whatever his reasoning for doing so– it was only fair if Harry took care of breakfast.

If Harry was being completely honest, he knew that making breakfast was really the _least_ he could do. The Dursleys' voices, telling him how they hadn't asked for him, how he had to make up for his presence somehow, echoed through his head.

When Harry arrived in the kitchen, he realized he had no idea what to make. Or even what Snape had available for him to use. Deciding that going to the fridge to check for breakfast staples was as good a place to start as any, Harry hurried in that direction.

To his dismay, the fridge was nearly barren. There were no eggs and no milk. Taking a deep breath, Harry closed the fridge door and went over to the pantry. This, too, was nearly empty. He had been hoping to see oatmeal, or maybe some pancake mix that only needed water. Harry rarely got to use it himself, but the Dursleys had it in abundance when Harry returned in the summer, since it was so easy to make.

But there was nothing of the sort. There were only the dregs of various staples lurking in the corners of the pantry, many of which looked as though they were expired.

Harry had no idea what he was going to do.

Snape had said that breakfast was at 8 am; the clock was ticking closer and closer to the deadline, and Harry could find nothing at all to make.

Maybe this had been Snape's plan? To have Harry come down to make breakfast, only to find that there was nothing. But, Harry realized, this made no sense at all, since Snape hadn't even _told_ Harry to make breakfast.

Unless Snape's plan was to set Harry's expectations high with the scheduled meals and the large dinner so that when there was nothing for breakfast, Harry would be disappointed.

Well, if that was Snape's plan, then he was going to be the disappointed one. The meal the night before had been so large that Harry was hardly even hungry yet.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table. There was nothing to make, so there was no reason to set the table. He would just wait here for Snape to come down. Then Snape would break the news about breakfast to Harry, and Harry would shrug, unaffected– turning the tables on Snape's plan.

Leaning back in the chair, Harry settled in for the wait with an amused smile dancing around the corners of his mouth. There was still a bit of time before Snape had said breakfast would be, so he would likely not be down yet.

Except, once Harry heard the sounds of Snape descending the stairs, the smile fell off his face and his stomach dropped. Because, set up for failure or not, he had _failed. _

Harry took several steadying, deep breaths. This had been Snape's plan, Harry reminded himself. He didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of seeing his panic.

By the time Snape strode into the kitchen, Harry had managed to force a semblance of calm over himself.

"Good morning," Snape said.

Harry blinked. This wasn't the greeting that Harry would have expected. Where was the anger? The smugness? The excitement over getting one up on the _Boy-Who-Lived_?

"Good morning," Harry returned, hesitant.

"I was just about to order breakfast– and lunch– from a Hogwarts house elf. Since you are here, you may as well tell me what you would like so I may order it."

Harry frowned, not sure he had heard Snape correctly. "You're _ordering_ breakfast?"

"Yes, of course I am," Snape said. "There is no food fit for consumption left in the house and I have not yet had a chance to go buy groceries."

"Oh."

"You have not told me what you would like for the next two meals," Snape said.

Harry's mind went blank for a long moment. He ought to ask for something simple– something that would be easy. "Uh, I'd like oatmeal? And, um, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Snape paused. "Are you sure that is all? Remember, there is no food in the house to snack on."

Harry nodded.

"Very well," Snape said. "Whoosh!"

There was a loud pop as a house elf apparated into the kitchen.

Snape ordered their meals. For himself, he ordered oatmeal and caesar salad. Then the house elf disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"It should not be long before he returns with the food," Snape said, taking his seat at the table.

Harry was still dazed by this unexpected turn of events. He felt decidedly wrong-footed by Snape's continued– _niceness_. Even though Harry suspected Snape of having ulterior motives for his actions, it still felt wrong. At least Harry didn't expect Snape to treat him well for long.

Snape simply hated Harry too much for that.

Harry realized that he hadn't responded yet to Snape. "Thank you, sir."

Any further response Snape might have had was cut off by the appearance of their meals. In the middle of the table were packages with their lunches and their oatmeal had appeared right in front of them.

The meal passed in somewhat awkward silence. With his next two meals secured, Harry was more convinced than ever that Snape would continue this charade of– of being _decent_. So Harry felt less tense than he had at dinner the night before.

When Harry finished his oatmeal, he got up to wash his dish in the sink.

"Leave it," Snape said, voice even and clear.

Harry jumped, almost dropping his bowl. "What?" he asked.

"Leave your dish in the sink for me to wash."

Harry bit back the urge to argue. While it felt wrong to leave work undone, it would be even worse to argue outright with the man. "Yes, sir," he said, stepping towards the door, slow and deliberate.

Before he made it out of the room, he stopped and turned to face Snape. "Was there anything you wanted me to do today?"

Snape stared at him for a long moment and Harry shifted, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "No," he said. "Do as you will."

"Yes, sir," Harry said once again, backing the rest of the way out of the kitchen.

* * *

Harry set down the quill in frustration. There was simply no use in writing letters that he had no way to send.

At lunch, Snape had said that he would be gone for a couple of hours in the afternoon. This announcement was _not_ followed, as Harry might have expected, with threats to keep Harry in his room and from snooping– it had merely been presented in an even tone as Snape had finished his meal.

By the time Harry had finished his meal, Snape had already left. Then, once Harry had finished his own meal, he had realized that this was his chance to do up his own dishes.

As he had stood at the sink, washing his dishes, Harry had thought over his good fortune. With each meal that passed, it seemed more and more like Snape really did intend to feed him three meals a day. For the first time, Harry had found himself _wanting_ to do chores to help out around the house.

At least, when Snape actually let him help out. Because so far, Snape had taken away most of the opportunities to help that had presented themselves.

Once Harry had finished the dishes, he had found himself wandering Snape's house, looking for something else to do to help out. Only, he was unable to find anything at all. Snape's house was simply too clean and well-kept.

Harry had set aside his apprehension at the future work it would take to maintain this level of cleanliness and instead focused on the absolute absence of anything at all for him to do.

After he had finished wandering the house, Harry had sat down at the desk in his room– and it had to be _his_ room, because its overwhelming similarity to the Gryffindor dorms did not leave any room for doubt there. Harry had wanted to try and write letters to his friends, but without Hedwig there to deliver the letters, there was simply no point in writing them in the first place.

So now, Harry's thoughts drifted over the possibility that he was not confined to his room. There was a sitting room downstairs, with shelves filled with books. If only Harry could convince himself that it would be alright to go down there, he would, at the very least, be able to entertain himself by looking through the shelves. The risk would be that much greater if Harry dared to touch one of Snape's possessions, so he would avoid that.

Really though, as a professor, surely Snape couldn't be too mad if Harry looked through his books. A small part of Harry protested that Snape would not view it that way, that he would see it as a violation of his privacy, but the thought of returning to his previous, overwhelming boredom overrode the protest.

Dissenting urges settled, Harry rose up out of his chair and strode out of his room. He hoped that if he acted with enough confidence, he'd feel less nervous about what he was about to do.

It was hard for Harry to believe that he was really doing this. That he was really risking Snape's wrath, both by leaving his room and by going through the man's belongings. And all for shelves that would be filled with horrible, boring Potions manuals.

Harry went down the stairs and up to the bookshelves.

To his surprise, there was a far wider selection of books than he had imagined there would be. Harry found himself reaching out to stroke the spines of several Defense books that looked fascinating. None of them felt worth the risk of removing them from the shelves, though, so Harry moved on, continuing his perusal.

The expected Potions manuals were there in abundance. Harry skipped over them, scrunching his nose in distaste.

There was also a small section of Muggle fiction that piqued Harry's interest, but again, it was still not worth the risk of removing one. Being down here, out of his room, browsing Snape's books, was more than risky enough.

But then Harry caught sight of the three books on the last shelf of the last bookcase. Occlumency books. At first, he passed them over– much as he had done with the Potions manuals– remembering how horrible his lessons in the subject had been.

Then Harry remembered the consequences of his lack of skill. He had been forced to attack Arthur because he had failed to learn Occlumency. Harry had had his thoughts overheard by Voldemort, had been pulled to Voldemort, because he had failed to learn Occlumency. Sirius had _died_ because he failed to learn Occlumency.

Before Harry could stop himself, he had knelt down and pulled all three of them from their place on the shelf.

_Guide to Advanced Occlumency_

_Secrets of the Mind_

_Theories of Occlumency _

Occlumency textbooks.

Harry collapsed back onto his heels, stunned by his discovery. These would have been so _useful_. These were entire books– they must contain more information than the useless 'clear your mind' that Snape had repeated over and over.

If he had had these, so much could have changed. Maybe Sirius–

Harry shook his head to clear it. There was no changing the past, especially after all the time-turners had been destroyed by him and his friends.

But maybe Harry could improve the future? Occlumency had already been so critical in the past– surely it would come up again. And Harry wanted to be prepared– to do the right thing. He didn't want to mess things up again because he hadn't managed to learn how to shield his mind.

Pulling the first of the texts towards him, he opened it to the table of contents. Harry blinked, then blinked again. The chapter titles were full of confusing jargon that he couldn't even begin to decipher. Swallowing back his rising anxiety, he hoped it was because the titles were explained in greater detail later.

Harry flipped the book open to a page at random and started to read. His chest tightened and his hands clenched around the book when he realized that the text was just as impossible to read as the titles had been. He flipped to another page–

And another–

Harry grabbed the next book and threw it open. Then, just as fast, he slammed it shut in disgust. He stared at the last book, wondering if there was any point in looking through it. With a sigh, he set aside the second book and pulled the third onto his lap. There wasn't much point in leaving the job undone.

As expected, it was just as confusing as the first two had been. Harry stared at the page, gaze blank, mind elsewhere.

There went his hope that he would be able to do something right for once. A small part of him had hoped that he would be able to learn Occlumency as a way to atone for his mistakes, for his failures. But with a despairing look cast over the books, Harry knew that there was no way he would be able to get through them.

If he had to guess, he'd say that they were all purely on the _theory_ of Occlumency. Not, as Harry had hoped they would be, on the application or the practicalities of Occlumency.

Harry had just started to half-heartedly stack the books to put them away when the sudden _pop_ of apparition startled him. Harry staggered to his feet. He turned to face the direction the sound had come from just in time to make eye contact with Snape as the man came through the front door.

In the second before Harry dropped his gaze, he saw that Snape hadn't seemed to react much at all to Harry's presence in his sitting room.

But then Harry saw the loose stack of Occlumency books by his feet that made it impossible for him to have been doing anything else here. There was nothing for it, then. Harry squared his shoulders and waited for Snape to say something.

"You are welcome to borrow any volume you like. I only ask that you take care of them as they are my own personal possessions."

"I– I can?" Harry asked, equal measures hopeful and confused. But, as he remembered how incomprehensible the Occlumency books were, the hope faded away.

"Yes, of course," Snape said. "I just said that you may, and I do not speak for the pleasure of hearing my own voice."

"Oh," Harry said simply.

Then Snape sighed and closed the distance between them. Instinctively, Harry took a step back as well, trying to maintain the distance between them, but all he accomplished was pressing his back against the bookshelves.

Snape bent over and picked up the books that Harry had stacked.

"Occlumency books?" he asked. "I would have expected you to choose the Defense books– or the Muggle ones."

Harry shrugged, the motion automatic and careless. Then his mind caught up with who he was interacting with. "Yes, sir," he said.

"These aren't very… accessible."

Harry couldn't help the scoff he let loose. 'Not very accessible' was a mild way to put it.

"Are you truly interested in learning?" Snape asked. "If you are, I would be willing to teach you again."

It took a moment for the question to sink in, but when it did, Harry nodded, frantic. "Yes, sir," he added.

Harry knew that the lessons were going to be just as bad as ever, in all the ways they had been awful before. He had never learned much of anything from them, and he always left the lessons feeling violated and horrible. But– if he managed to learn anything at all, it would be worth it.

And, in all honesty, even if he didn't learn anything, it would still be worth it. Because he _should_ have learned this already, and he had messed things up badly due to that failure. So any pain that he received during these lessons would be nothing more than he deserved.

Snape seemed taken aback by Harry's enthusiasm, but his expression soon settled back into neutrality.

"I assume that you would prefer to start the lessons after the holiday," Snape said.

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. I'd like to get started as soon as possible." There was no use in wasting more time.

"Then how does tonight after dinner sound?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Thank you, sir."

That meant Harry had several hours to prepare himself. Harry turned and left for his room. Maybe the utter lack of anything to do would help him clear his mind.

* * *

AN: So the past two chapters have been very disappointing in terms of reviews. The truth is that there are other things I could be working on, like my other major project, with the time I'm using on this one. And, based on the past two chapters, it would make much more sense for me to spend my time on my other project.

If you would like me to continue working on this, I'm going to need you to drop me a review– it doesn't have to be an essay! Any thoughts you had, what you liked, whatever, is all it takes. Because if this one is disappointing, then I'm going to hiatus the fic for the time being. I will _not_ be abandoning it, just focusing my energies elsewhere for the time being.

As always, thank you for reading, and stay safe out there.


	7. Severus Snape's Mellow Meditation

As dinner time neared, Harry found himself growing more and more tense. Despite the utter lack of anything to do, Harry had not managed to clear his mind because he still had no idea what that even meant.

It turned out that his new determination to learn Occlumency did little to help him figure out _how _to go about learning Occlumency. So now he was in the same position he had been the last time he'd tried, except now he knew how important it was for him to learn this, how dire the consequences of failing could be.

And, on top of that, he knew how painful the lessons were. How horrible it felt to have his mind ripped into, his most private memories examined by a man who hated him.

Snape had been nice lately, far nicer than Harry was used to or deserved. But once Snape saw how Harry was treated by the Dursleys, he would realize that there was no need to play nice. The way the Dursleys had treated him never mattered, after all. The only thing that was important was that Harry be returned to Hogwarts in one piece.

Harry checked the time again. It was time to go downstairs. He took a deep breath and, with hands that were not shaking, really, they _weren't_, he went down to dinner.

Once again, Snape was seated at the table, which was already set, with the cooked meal in a pot in the middle of the table. Harry took his seat across from Snape and stared down at the empty plate in front of him.

It hadn't been empty yesterday at dinner.

And his plate hadn't been empty at their other meals today– those had been prepackaged by the house elves. There hadn't been anything to worry about because it had been clear what the portions were and who they were meant for. But now his plate was empty. He didn't know what to do.

Was this his punishment for going through Snape's things earlier? Was Harry not supposed to eat? But– weren't the Occlumency lessons going to be punishment enough for that?

Snape didn't _seem_ angry. He was calm as he served himself, hardly looking in Harry's direction. When Snape finished dishing out his dinner, he began to eat it, still ignoring Harry as he did so.

Harry remained frozen in his seat. He stared at the pot of food in consternation, trying to decide if he was allowed to serve himself. He just didn't _know_.

"Are you not hungry?" Snape asked.

Harry grew even more still. What was the right answer here? Harry didn't know. Harry didn't know, but he needed to say something because ignoring the man would be disrespectful, and that was the last thing Harry needed before an Occlumency lesson.

"No, sir," he said. It was the right answer on the few occasions that the Dursleys had asked it of him. _And, _a traitorous part of his mind whispered, _the wrong one on the many occasions that Hermione and Ron had asked._

Harry ignored the thought, shoving it to the back of his mind, and focused on Snape's response.

The man looked up, right at Harry. He was frowning.

Harry swallowed and shoved his not-shaking hands under his legs. This was _ridiculous_, it was just a meal. He'd gone without plenty of those– he shouldn't care so much about whether he got this one. His reaction was probably just nerves over the Occlumency lesson. That's all it was.

Then Snape reached for the ladle in the pot, and Harry felt some of the fear abate as he wondered what Snape could be doing with it– the man's plate was still full, he couldn't need seconds already.

But instead of serving himself, Snape ladled the food out onto Harry's plate.

"We have Occlumency lessons tonight," Snape said, repeating the motion and depositing more food on Harry's plate. "You're going to want your strength."

Harry met the man's eyes for a brief moment before nodding and dropping his gaze to his plate. So Snape wasn't denying him dinner as punishment for going through the bookshelves.

This failed to make Harry feel any better, though. Because all this meant was that Snape was saving his wrath for the lesson. But then again, what was one more thing to be punished for? It would only be one of many things that Harry would be atoning for in these coming _lessons._

* * *

Dinner had not been promising. Harry had been shaking from the moment he'd come through the kitchen door. And then he'd thought– well, Severus didn't know for certain what the boy had been thinking, but. If he had to guess, it would be that Harry had thought he was being denied dinner as some sort of punishment.

Severus had asked if Harry was hungry, and when he had responded, there had been a hopeful quaver in his voice. Like he was hoping it was the right answer, all but confirming his suspicions.

At least he'd eaten after Severus had served him some food. It seemed that letting the boy serve himself was not, as Severus had hoped it would be, a way to give the boy a measure of control in a situation he had very little say in.

Harry finished eating long before Severus did. He did not ask for seconds, nor did he spend any time looking longingly at the pot. Severus might have ladled some more food out onto the boy's plate, were it not for the slightly green cast that had fallen over Harry's face.

For a moment, Severus had wondered if Harry had fallen ill. But he didn't seem feverish, so the most probable explanation was that he was afraid.

The best thing to do for Harry was to get the lesson started as soon as possible. As it was, the boy's imagination was likely running rampant, conjuring scenarios that were far worse than anything reality could be.

So as soon as Severus was done eating, he got to his feet. "Are you ready to begin the Occlumency lesson?" Severus asked.

Harry blanched but got up anyways. "Yes, sir," he said.

The fear in the boy's eyes cut his heart. Harry had faced things that would terrify most adults without flinching, but the prospect of a simple Occlumency lesson was terrifying to him.

"It is going to be alright," Severus said, trying to reassure the boy.

Harry sent a dubious look at Severus, holding himself stiff even as his hands continued to shake. Taking this in, Severus knew that further efforts to reassure him wouldn't do any good. It was clear that he would just have to demonstrate with his actions that things would be different now.

"This way," Severus said. He had decided to hold the lessons in the sitting room because it was spacious and comfortable.

Severus walked through the house, Harry trailing along behind him.

"Just wait in the doorway while I get everything ready," he told Harry, who had come to a halt a bit behind him.

As he stepped into the room, Severus drew his wand and began banishing the furniture to the sides of the room.

With the center of the room cleared of furniture, Severus conjured two mats and arranged them on the floor a couple feet apart. He pulled the curtains closed, and then he sat down on one of the mats, cross-legged.

"Sit down, Harry," Severus said, gesturing at the mat opposite.

Harry complied, seeming to grow more tense and miserable as he approached.

The anxiety– the _fear_ in Harry's expression made Severus wonder if he had made the right choice in offering these lessons. At the time, it had seemed like a convenient opportunity to bond with Harry, but now he doubted it was worth the misery the boy was being subjected to.

Especially since Occlumency required a great deal of trust between teacher and pupil in order to go well. This was, in truth, the main reason why the initial lessons with Harry had gone so poorly. No matter how much Severus had harped on about how he could tell that Harry had not practiced clearing his mind, the lack of trust between them would have never have allowed Harry to learn anything at all from him.

A sick twist of guilt settled into Severus's stomach at the thought of all the damage he must have done to Harry's mind the year before. Mind-to-mind connection– in particular, _malicious_ mind-to-mind connection– could leave deep scars on the mind when there was no proper bond in place first.

He had justified it then by telling himself that Harry was _spoiled, _that his little friends and relatives would be able to soothe the hurt. But Severus hadn't understood how truly alone Harry had been and even now was.

It was too late to back out now though, so Severus took a deep breath and began.

"The art of Occlumency, done properly, requires a certain level of trust between teacher and student." An incredulous look crossed Harry's face, but Severus forged ahead, determined. "So, for now, these lessons will focus on building this bond between us."

Harry continued to sit, the expression of incredulity frozen on his face.

"The mind is a sacred thing, and even those of us with magic were not meant to have our minds violated. This is reflected in the effectiveness of Legilimency as a weapon and the ease with which Occlumency lessons can go wrong."

Harry's expression had settled into something unreadable. "So–" He cut himself off and shook his head. "Never mind."

Severus was not sure that he would like to hear what had crossed Harry's mind. But–

"Yes, Harry? Feel free to speak your mind. I will not retaliate for anything that you say during these lessons. Else there is no way we will ever build the bond necessary to be successful."

Harry didn't look like he quite believed that.

"So this... bond?"

Severus nodded.

"It's _necessary_ in order to learn Occlumency?" Harry twisted his hands in his lap.

Severus could hear the unasked question as loud as if Harry had shouted it. _It isn't my fault that I couldn't learn this? _

"It is almost always necessary," Severus confirmed. "But with the situation as dire as it was, Dumbledore decided that it was worth the danger on the off chance that the lessons worked without the bond. And I believe he hoped that, by spending time alone for the lessons, we would eventually form the necessary bond."

Harry took in a long and slow deep breath. Then he nodded his head with a sharp jerk.

"Continuing on," Severus said, "people qualified to teach Occlumency are rare. Because of this, it is typical for a teacher and pupil to lack the requisite bond at first. In these situations, when time is not of the essence, the traditional way to form the bond is through guided meditation. Unless you have any questions, we will begin now."

Harry shook his head.

"You're already sitting cross-legged, good, but place your hands on your knees, palm up. Yes, just like that. Now, if you like, you may close your eyes."

The fear flooded back into Harry's expression, but he closed his eyes anyways. Severus almost asked Harry to reopen them, but the meditative state he hoped to help Harry achieve would be much more attainable without visual distractions.

Really, even achieving a meditative state wasn't absolutely necessary for Occlumency. It could be helpful for learning to clear one's mind, but the path to get there was long and they had not had the time for it previously. Some people were capable of clearing their minds without the crutch of meditation, and they had all hoped that Harry would be one of those.

So the meditation now had a dual purpose. If Harry managed to achieve a calm meditative state in Severus's presence, then that would be a good sign that there was some measure of trust between them. And, eventually, it would be useful for guiding Harry into clearing his mind.

"The first thing we are going to focus on is your breathing. Done properly, this will make it easier to maintain a meditative state. As I count to seven, I would like you to inhale. Then hold for a count of seven, then release for one last count of seven.

"Once I feel you have gotten into the rhythm, I may transition to describing scenery for you to picture. The purpose of that will be to draw you into a deeper meditative state."

Severus waved his wand and dimmed the lights in the room. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Severus began counting out the rhythm, his voice low and soothing.

In the beginning, Harry was as stiff as a board. His shoulders were drawn up nearly to his ears, his hands were clenched into fists by his sides, and his eyes were scrunched shut.

As Severus continued to count, some of the tension in Harry's body started to drain out. But it soon became clear that Harry was not able to completely relax yet. Which was understandable, because just before this lesson Harry had thought he had been denied dinner. It was clear that Severus had quite a bit of work to do to overcome Harry's distrust.

Severus considered whether he ought to transition to describing scenery. Harry did seem to have the rhythm of the breathing down– but he was still so tense.

Deciding that there was little harm to be done in attempting it, Severus chose a calming scene to describe.

"The sky is blue," he began. "The sun is shining down and there is a light breeze in the air. You are lying on your back in a field of freshly cropped grass. Above you are several white clouds. You take in a deep breath and smell the grass all around you…"

Severus continued to describe this summer day, but it soon became clear that this particular scene was not working. That was fine– at least the boy had not become more tense. So Severus kept at it, adding more details to the scene.

Eventually, perhaps Severus would be able to use this method to guide Harry into picturing nothing at all. Or, in other words, to guide Harry into clearing his mind.

When Harry started to fidget again, Severus trailed off into silence. He raised the lights in the room and watched as Harry's eyes blinked open.

"You may sit up," Severus said.

Harry did so, then stretched out his arms. "So– do we start the real Occlumency lesson now?" he asked.

Severus frowned and shook his head. "That _was _the real Occlumency lesson. We are done for today."

"But–"

"No," Severus said, cutting the boy off, "that was a full Occlumency lesson. I was–" He took a deep breath in to steady himself for what he was about to say. "I was wrong to skip these steps. They are necessary for you to learn Occlumency, and it is clear that it is not yet time to move on to mind-to-mind contact yet."

Harry looked flabbergasted. Severus turned away and got to his feet.

"I will be in my office if you need me," Severus said. Then he hurried out of the room. He had left all the furniture and things along the edges of the room, but he figured he could move everything back when he went up for bed.

* * *

After Severus had finished responding to his correspondence, including updating Minerva on Harry's status, he stretched in his desk chair. It had been a long day. From grocery shopping to the Occlumency lesson, he was ready for the day to be over.

Severus got up and went to reorganize the sitting room before going up to get ready for bed. And stopped in his tracks.

The living room was exactly as it had been _before_ Severus had rearranged it for the Occlumency lesson.

Severus walked up to one of the armchairs and stared at it in consternation. Harry must have rearranged everything after he had left. It was clearly an action meant to be helpful, but Severus felt his chest tighten in irritation.

Because Severus had been more than obvious in his efforts to keep Harry from doing chores, and then the boy had gone and done this as soon as he had left the room.

Severus sat down in the arm chair and leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees and placing his chin in his hands.

Maybe he ought to make _no chores_ an actual rule for the boy. So far, Severus had been reluctant to lay down any rules at all since Harry was already so well behaved– and terrified. He hadn't wanted to make that fear worse by imposing rules.

But the boy's persistence in trying to clean made him doubt that decision.

If only Severus knew _why_ Harry was so interested in helping out, it would be much easier for him to make a decision about allowing Harry to help out.

With his current suspicions, Severus was very reluctant to let Harry do anything at all. There was a chance, however small, that Harry was just naturally helpful. That this tendency was nothing more than a somewhat extreme version of an attempt to be a good guest.

Severus stared ahead, his gaze fixed on the coffee table in front of him. He blinked in confusion.

The coffee table had been cleaned. The coffee table was not scheduled for cleaning for several more days. But– Severus sat up and reached out to swipe the surface with a finger to be sure. Yes, it had been cleaned today.

That decided it. Harry would not be doing any more chores under Severus's roof.

It wasn't right for Harry, a child, to do cleaning for any reason other than to help out– and Severus had a strong suspicion that helpfulness was not motivating Harry's actions.

Severus would not want Harry to feel as though he had to earn his keep, even if Severus were not attempting to mend his relationship with Harry. Even if Harry had been staying with Severus before he had realized the truth about Harry's character.

Harry must have been through some trauma that had led to this belief that he had to work to earn his right to exist. No child should feel that way, but Harry in particular should not.

Tomorrow, Severus would have to sit Harry down for a talk and establish a new rule.

For a moment, Severus considered framing the rule as having nothing to do with its true motivation. Perhaps he was too particular about how his home was cleaned to have Harry mucking about with it. But then Severus decided that the best thing to do would be to be honest.

Severus did, after all, want Harry to trust him more. And lying to the boy– more than he already had– was not the way to achieve that. Honesty was.

Plan decided on, Severus got to his feet and went to bed, mind on the coming conversation.

* * *

AN: a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! the response was overwhelming and amazing and I've obviously decided not to hiatus this fic. (i will warn you wall, though, that i have finals coming up, so while this will be an active project, i will have less time for writing than normal :/) anyways, hope you review this chapter too :D


	8. Chores Are Bad, Actually

The next morning, Severus made pancakes for breakfast. Right on time, Harry arrived in the kitchen and sat down at the table in his usual spot. Severus was finishing up cooking the pancakes. As soon as they were done, he split the stack between two plates and brought them over to the table.

Harry seemed relieved to be handed a plate loaded with food, so Severus supposed that that would be how meals worked from then on. It was such a small matter to save the boy a great deal of worry.

Severus finished his own meal first. He remained in his seat, waiting for Harry to be done as well. Once Harry was done, Severus could inform him of the new rules.

The new rule, singular.

There were no other rules that Severus thought necessary given Harry's lack of misbehavior, so he would only be setting the one rule. If Harry started acting out at some point, then the decision could be reassessed, but for now, the one rule was all he thought necessary.

When Harry finished eating, he made to get up from his seat, plate in hand.

"Please stay in your seat," Severus said. Harry sat back down, heavy, then froze.

Harry turned those wide green eyes on Severus, expectant. Over the past several days, Severus had come to expect some degree of fear in the boy's eyes. But today, that fear was diminished– not gone, but almost. It was an improvement that eased Severus's heart.

"There is something I wanted to speak to you about this morning," Severus said.

And there was that fear again. Severus buried his disappointment and continued on. "I noticed, last night, that you set the sitting room back to normal after our lesson. And cleaned the furniture, too."

Harry nodded.

"That has to stop. You are not to do any cleaning at all." Severus had deliberated over this last night, how much was too much, what was permissible. And he had decided that he would just have to set a blanket ban on cleaning. Severus had the feeling that if he allowed Harry an inch in this, Harry would take a mile.

Harry frowned, the expression equal measures confused and worried. "But, sir–"

Severus held up his hand, cutting Harry off. "No cleaning. No washing the dishes, no dusting, no sweeping, no cooking. I will be doing your laundry–"

Harry shook his head in denial.

"I won't pretend to know what went on under Petunia's roof, but I can infer enough to know that your need to do chores is not derived from anything healthy. Nothing you say will change my mind on this," Severus added, when Harry looked like he might argue.

"This is the only rule I've set down since you've come to stay here, and I expect you to abide by it."

"Or?" Harry asked, quiet, as he fidgeted with the hem of his too-large shirt.

Severus had considered this too. "I have noticed that you do not have your owl with you. I happen to have an owl of my own that I would be willing to allow you to use, so you may correspond with your little friends. That is– I would be willing so long as you follow my one rule and refrain from cleaning."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's it? Not detention?"

"I can hardly have you serve a detention when the vast majority of detentions involve unpleasant cleaning of some kind."

Harry sat in silence, seeming to take in all that Severus had said.

Severus leant back in his seat, content to let Harry process the new rule at his own speed. It was, after all, far outside Harry's experience with both rules at home and with Severus.

"You can't possibly mean no cleaning," Harry said eventually. "What about making my bed? Or– putting my dirty clothes in the hamper, that's technically cleaning too. You can't mean to pick up my room after me."

"I can and I do. Though I intend to enchant your bed to make itself, the rest I can do when gathering your laundry to clean. I mean it, Mr Potter. You are to do no cleaning while under my roof."

Harry shut his mouth and bobbed his head in a curt nod. "Yes, sir."

"Come with me," Severus said, getting to his feet. "I will introduce you to Hectate, my owl, so you may send letters."

Mild surprise lit in Harry's eyes. Severus held his expression steady, knowing it would take more than a promise to attain Harry's trust.

* * *

The next several days passed in much the same way. Severus and Harry would take their meals together, and in the evening Severus would continue to guide Harry through meditation.

Each night, Harry would become more relaxed in Severus's presence than he had been in the last. And last night, Severus had been able to guide Harry into clearing his mind. That meant that if Harry managed to repeat the feat tonight, they would be able to progress to actual mind-to-mind contact next.

Severus felt a touch of nerves at this prospect. Things had been going well between them. Harry had made free use of Hectate to talk with his friends and had refrained from cleaning. Harry had even grown more confident, less fearful, perhaps as a consequence of the Occlumency lessons.

But if the mind-to-mind contact went poorly, Harry could easily fall back into his anxious patterns of behavior. He could easily lose whatever trust Severus had managed to build with him.

That was the last thing Severus wanted.

But mind-to-mind contact was the logical next step of their lessons together, so Severus knew that he would have to do it eventually. The longer he delayed the more suspicious Harry would become, and the more likely it was that Harry would lose trust in Severus.

So it was best if Severus was to get it over with now. That way he would still have the remainder of break to earn that trust back, if it turned out to be necessary.

After dinner that night, Severus and Harry convened in the sitting room as they always did, with the furniture pushed back against the walls. Severus guided Harry into a meditative trance, then into clearing his mind.

Severus was almost disappointed when Harry cleared his mind with ease. If Harry had failed, that would have been a convenient excuse to delay the mind to mind contact.

Severus raised the lights.

"That was fast," Harry said, sitting up. He was relaxed and had a slight smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

"It was," Severus agreed. "Which means that we can progress with the Occlumency lessons. You have now cleared your mind twice. This means that we are ready to initiate mind contact."

The smile went away, and Harry's shoulders tensed. "I am? But– but it hasn't been that long," he said, voice high and tight.

"If you do not feel ready, then we do not need to progress just yet. But traditionally, this is the point in training where mind contact is first made."

Harry paused, then nodded. "I'm ready for it, then," he said, face set in a stubborn expression.

"For this lesson, I will only be entering your mind once. Your goal is to keep your mind as close to that cleared state as possible. We will remain seated, and the contact will not be long."

"Yes, sir."

"Meet my eyes when you are ready for me to enter your mind."

For the next several moments, Harry's eyes were closed and his breathing was steady and rhythmic. Then the boy opened his eyes and met Severus's gaze.

Severus raised his wand and cast, "_Legilimens._"

At first, Severus encountered the nothingness that was characteristic of a cleared mind. He felt a warm glow of pride at Harry's accomplishment. But then he fell into a flash of a memory. It was wiped away, almost before Severus could process what he had seen, leaving him with impressions of a dog barking and fear.

Once more, Severus found himself filled with pride that Harry had managed to clear his mind, even after Severus had encountered a memory.

There were several more long moments of nothingness, so Severus gave a gentle mental shove to try and find a memory. Harry had done so well at evicting the intrusion the first time that Severus wanted to give the boy a chance to do it again. It would be a good boost of confidence for the boy.

Severus fell into a memory. He was standing in a kitchen that must be Petunia's. He waited for Harry to dissipate the memory like he had with the other one.

But he didn't.

Severus knew Harry could do it, and since he hadn't been in the boy's mind long, so he decided to stay. When Harry managed to push him out or remove the memory on his own, it would do a lot for Harry's faith in his abilities.

Looking around the memory, Severus spotted Petunia and a young Harry– maybe seven years old– on the other side of the kitchen. Now that Severus was paying attention, he realized that Petunia was hissing something at Harry as she loomed over him.

"–took you in out of the kindness of our hearts, and this is how you repay us? By taking food out of my precious son's mouth? No more," Petunia spat, emphasizing her words with a downward slash of her hand. "From now on, you will work to earn your keep. No more handouts."

Severus stared in horror as she stood up straight, brushing herself off. The expression on the young Harry's face was nothing less than guilt-stricken.

That was enough to propel Severus into action. This was not a memory that he should be witnessing. Doing his best to be gentle, Severus extricated himself from Harry's mind entirely.

Harry was slumped forward, folding over his crossed legs.

Severus rummaged through his robes, looking for the headache cure that he had stowed there. Severus found it and pulled the cork out. Then he leaned forward and held it out. "For your head," he said.

Harry straightened into a sitting position. He took the potion, but then froze, staring at the opened bottle in his hand.

"If your head hurts, then that will make it stop," Severus clarified.

Harry blinked. He continued to stare at the potion. Then he tossed the potion back in a practiced sort of way– likely to avoid tasting as much of it as possible.

"What– how much of that did you see?" Harry asked. He was avoiding eye contact by staring at the fireplace.

Ah. Severus ordered his thoughts for a moment before he spoke. "I witnessed the same memory you did, though I was not paying attention for the entire time I was there."

Harry's eyes flicked from the fireplace to Severus and back again. "So you didn't hear what Aunt Petunia said?"

Severus cleared his throat, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. "I heard some of it, towards the end of the memory. She should not have spoken to you that way, and you certainly do not need to earn your keep here."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's face at this last. "I picked up on that, actually," he said, wry, before looking shocked at his own words.

"That's good," Severus said, relieved that Harry had noticed the intent of the one rule. "I will be holding you to my rule more firmly than ever now."

Harry shifted, finally bringing his gaze to somewhere in the proximity of Severus. "You know I don't mind helping out, right? Like, yeah, she probably shouldn't have put that on me when I was that young, but I'm hardly a child anymore."

Severus kept the amused smile from showing on his face. At sixteen, Harry was nearing the age when he would be considered a man, but he was still so young in the grand scheme of things. "Whether you mind it or not, I refuse to let you slave away when there is no need for you to do so."

This cast a pallor over Harry's face as he wrapped his arms around himself. "May I be excused?" he asked.

"You may," Severus said.

Harry got to his feet and walked up the stairs. Severus couldn't be sure what the boy was thinking, but he suspected that the stark contrast between him and Harry's family was painful.

All in all, though, their lesson had not gone as terribly as it could have. They had managed to establish mental contact, and Harry had not stormed out of the lesson or been in excessive pain. Severus would count this as a victory.

And though Severus had not intended to intrude when he had entered Harry's mind, viewing that memory had confirmed that he had done the right thing by banning Harry from doing chores. The way he had tried to insist that he didn't mind 'helping out' even after Severus had doubled down on his rule only made him more sure.

Severus would help Harry learn that he did not need to prove his worth to receive basic care.

* * *

Harry stretched his cramping hand and realized that he was thirsty. In his last letter, he had told Hermione and Ron that he was staying with Snape. Their responses had been laden with questions. He didn't blame them for that, but it meant his response had taken a good deal of time to write.

Checking the time, Harry saw that it was still a long while until dinner. He got up from his seat, then walked down to the kitchen to get a glass of water and to stretch his legs. He didn't pass Snape on his way down, so the man must be in his office since he hadn't said anything about going out.

It took a couple of tries to pinpoint the location of the glasses since Snape hadn't let Harry so much as set the table, but he managed to find one. As he was filling the glass in the sink, the sound of a car backfiring startled him. Harry managed to keep his hold on the glass, but his hand and the outside of the glass got soaked in water.

He finished filling the glass, then turned around to lean against the counter while he drank it. His hand was still wet, so he went to transfer the glass to his other hand. But he wasn't careful enough, and the glass slid through his fingers.

Harry watched as it fell, almost in slow motion. He tried to catch it, but he didn't move fast enough, only succeeding in bumping the glass so it fell faster.

The glass smashed into the ground and shattered into several pieces. His stomach plummeted, and he swore under his breath as he dropped to his knees. He started gathering the broken pieces of glass, heedless of the risk to his hands, which had begun to tremble.

Harry had gotten all of the glass into a pile when he realized that some of his blood had mixed with the spilt water. He gasped, then pulled his jumper sleeves down, past his hands, and started mopping at the water with them.

"Mr Potter!" Snape called, forceful.

Harry jumped, but he didn't look up or stop his desperate motions. Snape was angry, and Harry wasn't even getting anywhere with cleaning the mess. If he didn't clean it up soon it would stain the floor, and then Uncle Vernon would _really _be mad.

Harry gasped, then turned his head to the side to wipe a few stray tears off on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll have this clean in– I just don't know where the mop is– I'm _sorry_."

There was the sound of footsteps– too light to be Uncle Vernon, too heavy to be Aunt Petunia, he noted distantly. He shook his head and tried to twist his jumper around so he could mop at the water with a drier part of his sleeve.

Then hands clamped down around his wrists. Harry jerked back, though he knew resistance was pointless. Uncle Vernon was too strong.

"_Harry_, please stop, you're _hurt_."

That didn't make sense; why would Uncle Vernon care if he was hurt? Harry risked a look up. "Snape?" he mumbled, confused. Then he froze as the memory of where he was slammed into him. "I'm sorry, sir," he repeated. He took in a deep breath to continue, though he didn't know what he meant to say.

"Wait," Snape interrupted, firm, "just wait until I have healed your hands, then we can discuss this."

Harry pulled at his hands, trying to free them from Snape's grip so he could finish cleaning the mess. Snape let go, but before Harry could hunch back over and resume cleaning, Snape grasped his shoulders and guided them both into a standing position.

"But, sir, the _mess_, I've almost got–"

Snape only shook his head and continued to pull Harry along. Harry allowed himself to be pulled, too shaken to fight much. But as he cast a look over his shoulder at the puddle and pile of glass on the floor, his stomach clenched tighter.

The walk through the house passed in a blur, and before Harry knew it, Snape was opening the door to his office.

"Sit down," Snape said, releasing Harry.

Harry looked around the small office, but the only seat in the room was Snape's desk chair. Harry glanced at Snape, hoping to see some indication of where he was meant to sit. Snape was distracted, though, looking through a cabinet.

Snape had said to sit and Harry wouldn't– couldn't disobey him, but Harry still had some blood on him and his jumper sleeves were soaked. Harry couldn't imagine Snape wanted Harry to sit in his chair, so Harry sat down on the floor, legs crossed, just like during their Occlumency lessons.

Harry looked down at his hands. He had managed to cut his fingers several times, and there was a deep gash across his right palm, but it really wasn't that bad. He wasn't sure why Snape was so upset– Harry would have been able to finish cleaning up the mess.

Snape started to turn around from the cabinet. "Alright–" he said, before cutting himself off. "What are you doing on the ground?"

Harry felt a flash of anger at Snape. It wasn't like he'd been told where to sit; he'd been left to guess. "You told me to sit down, sir," he muttered.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. "I meant for you to sit in the chair, so I may examine you for injuries."

Harry supposed that did make sense, though he wasn't sure how he was supposed to have known that. He got to his feet, then moved over to the chair. He hooked his leg around the chair leg to pull the chair out and turn it towards Snape– without getting his blood on it. Then he sat down and held his hands out for Snape to inspect.

Snape took his right hand first, probably because that was the one with the deepest cut. In short order, Snape had rubbed some kind of salve into both his hands. Harry watched, fascinated by the magic that caused the cuts to close over as if they were several days old rather than mere minutes.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, flexing his hands.

Snape set the jar of salve down on his desk, then he leaned against the desk and stared at Harry. "I would like to start this conversation off by reassuring you that I am not angry with you. That being said, you did break my one rule."

Harry's heart plummeted. He'd thought– well, he wasn't sure what he'd thought. In fact, he hadn't been thinking at all. He'd broken the glass and then he'd reacted.

"Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself?" Snape asked.

"I– it seemed different, because it wasn't routine cleaning. That's all."

Snape nodded. "I thought it would be something like that," he sighed. "But the bottom line is that you broke the rule, and I did tell you what the consequence for that would be."

Harry froze as he tried to remember what that was.

"So for the next two days, you may not send letters with my owl, Hectate."

"That's _all_?" Harry asked in belief, then closed his eyes, realizing that he should not question it when a punishment was more lenient than it ought to be. And this punishment was too lenient. Harry had broken the _one_ rule.

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Yes, it is. But while we're on the topic of your lack of self-preservation skills, I'd like to ask what you were thinking when you picked up glass with your bare hands."

"Er– I wasn't?"

"Well, next time I expect you to think before engaging in an activity where you could injure yourself."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, his own voice sounding distant in his ears.

"Now I am going to go finish cleaning up, and you are going to go lie down. You have lost some blood and could use the rest," Snape said, getting to his feet and moving towards his office door.

Harry got to his feet as well and trailed behind Snape as they left the room. He did feel a bit tired, light-headed, maybe because he'd lost blood, but maybe because of the conversation he'd just had.

"Do not forget," Snape said as Harry was about to turn into the sitting room so he could go upstairs, "you are not allowed to send letters with Hectate for the next two days."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. He turned to go up the stairs, thinking on Snape's recent behavior.

Snape had been good lately. Better than Harry had ever thought Snape could be. And despite Harry's initial misgivings, Snape had yet to betray him again. Even the Occlumency lessons had been going well. The thought of the lessons now sent a pang of guilt through his stomach, because they were not the method of atonement Harry had thought they would be.

But then, to make things even worse, Harry felt guilty that he was upset the lessons were going well. He _knew_ how important it was for him to learn Occlumency, yet a part of him would have felt better if they hadn't gone well.

That was the same part of him that had driven him to sit on the floor in Snape's office. That had led him to believe that his dinner was going to be taken away for going through Snape's books. The list went on, and Harry realized that these were not constructive thoughts.

They were thoughts that brought him anxiety, or panic, or any other number of negative emotions.

And Harry knew he could pin at least part of the blame for these thoughts on the Dursleys. They had done a thorough job of making sure Harry knew that he was not welcome in their home. The mindset had not only bled over into his friendships, but also into the expectations he had for everyone he lived with.

Harry knew that if he was ever going to be able to live with someone, he needed to sort out his thoughts. He couldn't continue to go around reacting as though everyone was like the Dursleys.

Though– that was exactly what Harry had been doing with Snape, and so far Snape had not judged him for his slip-ups or misunderstandings. In fact, the way he had handled Harry trying to clean up that broken glass was– well, probably just what he needed to start to break out of the Dursley-mindset.

Harry ought to use his time at Snape's house as an opportunity to learn how to live without the fear he was used to experiencing at home. If Harry managed to work out his issues here, with Snape, then it would be much easier for him to move in with someone else one day. Because then he wouldn't be worried about– about burdening someone he cared for by asking them to help him through his ridiculous problems.

This way the only one who would have to deal with him would be Snape. Which was good, because Snape had already proven himself to be a good choice for the position.

Maybe winter break wouldn't be so long after all.

* * *

AN: haha who needs to study for trivial things like finals when there's fanfic to be written... anyways, review and stay safe out there!


	9. Eli Finally Comes Up Again

"Soon you will not need meditation to clear your mind," Severus said as he watched Harry sit up. It had been one day since Harry had cleaned up the broken glass, forcing Severus to keep his word and deny Harry access to Hectate.

Severus had hoped that Harry would refrain from cleaning entirely so Severus would not need to carry through with the punishment. The fact that Harry had not willfully disobeyed made the necessity of following through that much more disappointing. But Severus knew that it would be worse in the long run– both for Harry and his relationship with Harry– if he retracted the punishment.

Severus knew that the only thing worse than rules was rules with inconsistent consequences. At least Harry had kept his word and refrained from sending letters.

Harry nodded, his eyes still distant from the process of clearing his mind. Then he focused on Severus, eyes sharp once more. "Are you going to cast Legilimency on me now?" he asked.

The lack of fear in this question was relieving to Severus. It meant that Harry was beginning to trust that Severus did not intend to hurt him.

"Not yet. There is another _technique_, for lack of a better word, that you need to learn and begin to implement. You need to begin organizing your mind– your thoughts and memories. As it is, your mind exists in two states: cleared and chaotic.

"For a vast majority of the time, your mind is in the chaotic state, which makes it more difficult for you to clear your mind. The more organized your mind is, the easier– and faster– it will be for you to clear your mind.

"This process must be undertaken independently because it requires an understanding of what occurs in each memory you seek to sort. If you do not know what a memory contains, you must view the memory before you can sort it. To facilitate that particular aspect of the process, I have obtained a Pensieve for you to use for the time being," Severus said. Then he paused to see if Harry had any questions.

"What exactly do you mean by 'organizing my mind'?" Harry asked. "What does that even look like?"

Severus paused. The complex nature of the mind meant that there were many ways it could be organized. The implementation of any such system, including the requisite process sorting of memories, was a very visual process. It would be much easier if Severus could just show Harry what he meant.

Then Severus remembered the time that Harry had entered his mind during an Occlumency lesson.

Severus _could _invite Harry into his own mind– Harry had already proven he was capable of it. Though allowing Harry to view the way his mind was organized carried the risk of biasing the boy. If Severus's method of sorting his memories was not the optimal system for Harry's mind, then the bias could make it difficult for the boy to find the system that was right for him.

And, of course, it would involve allowing Harry into his mind. The memory of the time that Harry managed to breach his mind was not a pleasant one, and Severus had been downright livid at the time.

Things had changed between him and Harry, though, and the thought of allowing the boy into his mind was no longer as abhorrent as it once would have been.

"Pull your wand," Severus said, even and measured.

Harry cocked his head to the side, curious, but did as he was told. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and held it down by his leg, his grip loose.

"I am going to allow you to enter my mind so you may experience my organizational system," Severus explained. "I want to be clear, though, that the way my mind is organized is by no means the only way to do so. The purpose of allowing you into my mind is to show you just one of the many ways you can go about this. It will be up to you, then, to choose the system that works best for your own mind."

"You can't be serious, sir," said Harry, incredulous.

"I am very serious," Severus said. "You know the incantation. The wand motion is simple: just point your wand at me. I am ready whenever you are."

Harry stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, for several long moments. Severus continued to sit on his mat, back straight and gaze level, ready for whenever Harry would work up the courage to enter his mind.

The moment came. Harry straightened, then with one fluid motion, he pointed his wand at Severus, casting _Legilimens_ as he did so.

Harry's presence in his mind was gentle and light. He seemed to be exercising an effort to make as little impact as possible– likely due to his own painful experiences with the spell.

With a nudge, Severus guided Harry's nebulous presence to the core of his mind– the potions lab that contained all his memories. Harry did not have a physical manifestation in his mind, but Severus did not have any trouble perceiving where Harry was and what his attention was directed at.

Harry wandered through the potions lab, looking at– but never seeking to interact with– the multitude of labeled bottles that contained Severus's entire life experiences.

When Harry had had enough time to get an idea of Severus's organizational system, Severus began to push Harry towards the fringes of his mind. Harry grasped the message and withdrew on his own.

"Did that help you understand what you need to do next?" Severus asked.

Harry was slumped forward, fatigue written in every line of his body. He propped himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I think so, sir. I just need to make categories for my memories, then put all my memories into the categories? And it can visually be anything?"

"Exactly," said Severus. Then, when Harry looked like he was going to struggle into an upright position, he added, "That was more than enough for today."

Harry's face relaxed further, the relief clear.

"Do you think you can make it up to your room on your own?" Severus asked. It was a valid question, Legilimency seemed to have exhausted Harry to a significant degree.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. He heaved himself to his feet and lumbered towards the stairs.

"Alright, then," Severus said. "Have a good nap."

Severus thought he heard Harry mumble something, but it was hard to say. He decided to let it pass, since whatever Harry may have said would have been an expression of gratitude or acknowledgement of his words.

Severus checked the time. It was still early afternoon, as he had hoped it would be. He had decided to hold this lesson earlier in the day because he had plans for the afternoon. Harry wearing himself out on Legilimency was a surprise bonus of the direction that their lesson had taken.

With a quick stop in the kitchen to leave a note for Harry, Severus apparated away. It was time to go Christmas shopping– for Harry.

* * *

Severus reread the letter Minerva had sent him, a part of him hoping that the words would rearrange themselves into a less irritating message. As expected, the words failed to do so, and Severus was forced to confront the necessity of informing Harry of this development.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been apprehended.

Severus was sure that once Harry heard the news, he would assume that Severus was going to kick him out. Over the past week and several Occlumency lessons, Severus had become well acquainted with Harry's lack of self-esteem.

Severus got to his feet and started to walk towards Harry's room. He may as well get this over with now, before Harry found out in some other way, perhaps from his friends.

His curt knock on the door was answered with a quiet, "Come in."

Harry was seated at his desk, a textbook and a half-written essay in front of him.

"I am sorry to interrupt your studies," Severus began, "but I have some news you may be interested in."

Harry wiped the nib of his quill off on the inkwell and set the quill down. He turned to face Severus, giving him his full attention.

"Bellatrix has been taken into Ministry custody, along with several of the remaining Death Eaters at large."

Harry sat still, taking this in. "That's good," he said, then stopped.

Severus had the feeling there was more Harry wanted to say, and though he hardly wanted to hear Harry ask about being kicked out, he held his silence so Harry could continue.

"But," Harry began, slow, "why did she even get away in the first place? Weren't you dueling her before you– well, saved my life?"

Severus suppressed his urge to raise his eyebrows at the unexpected question– he had been sure that Harry was going to ask about leaving. But then Severus processed what Harry had asked, and realized what the unspoken question had been. Had Severus chosen to save Harry over finishing the job with Bellatrix? Or, likely more to the point, did Severus care about Harry?

"She escaped because she was a coward; I nearly had her beaten, so she decided to apparate away. I will say, though, that for once her timing was excellent. As soon as she had left, I realized that you were– very ill-advisedly, I might add– preparing to duel with Voldemort. I had just enough time to get to you and push you out of the way of that curse."

"But I had already survived two killing curses, both of them from Voldemort. Why would you put yourself in front of the curse when it could have killed you?" Harry seemed to be getting frustrated, his leg bouncing, the motion agitated.

"Because," said Severus, slow and deliberate, "you were– are– worth saving. I had no reason to believe that your luck would continue, and I never have been one for leaving things up to chance."

Harry stared at him, mouth agape, all signs of frustration gone.

"I had only begun to get to know you," Severus continued. "It had only been a few short weeks since I had started spending time with you, but I came to know you better in that span of time than I had ever managed in my first five years as your professor.

"And in the process of getting to know you, I came to realize that you were worth saving for _you_. Not because you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and not because you are Harry Potter, Lily's son, but because you are _Harry."_

"I'm just Harry," Harry said, distant, lost in thought.

"You are," Severus agreed.

But then Harry's eyes snapped back to the present, and he fixed his gaze on Severus once more. "Then why did you let Professor Dumbledore blow your cover? You say that you'd gotten to know me, so you had to know that I wouldn't want anything to do with you after that."

Severus thought back to that day. Harry had disappeared from Dumbledore's office, had been pulled to Voldemort without a trace. Severus had not been the only one to panic, but Dumbledore had remained calm and collected. So Severus hadn't thought twice when Dumbledore had handed him the antidote to his disguise.

But maybe he should have. Severus could not think of a compelling reason for his cover to have been blown when it was. The purpose of Severus going undercover had been to get to know Harry, and what better time to do that than in the aftermath of being kidnapped by Voldemort?

Dumbledore had prevented that, though.

"I did not choose to become Eli in the first place," Severus began, picking his words with careful deliberation, "and neither did I choose to resume my proper form. I regret that the circumstances that allowed me to get to know you– the real you– were such a violation of your trust.

"But I do _not_ regret that they happened."

Harry stared at him, beginning to look overwhelmed. He shook his head, then stopped. "This is all so much," he said, looking down at his lap.

"Then why don't you take some time to process it?" Severus pulled his wand and cast _Tempus_. "You should have enough time to draft a letter to your friends in the remaining time before you are allowed to send them off with Hectate."

Harry nodded, turning his gaze to his desk where his writing materials sat.

"I will be in my office until dinner," Severus added. Harry nodded, but he still looked very distracted and a touch overwhelmed. Severus backed out of Harry's room, closing the door quietly behind him.

There were only a handful of days left until Christmas, and Severus had some gift wrapping to do.

* * *

AN: phew a night time update! in me news, i finished my finals (and my entire undergrad) so im hoping to be making speedier progress on this fic! i estimate about two more chapters and an epilogue left and since that's all outlined, im pretty confident that that's all that's left (not confident enough to update the chapter count, but still pretty confident)

anyways, please comment! and i hope you're all staying safe :)


	10. It's Christmas Time, Everybody

After their conversation, Snape had left Harry alone with his thoughts. The revelations that had come up had made Harry feel unbalanced and dazed.

Bellatrix had been captured, Snape hadn't chosen to betray him, and Snape had deliberately chosen to save him. Harry felt off-kilter, like he'd been punched in the gut with revelation after revelation.

Harry was glad, though, that these had all waited until after he had decided to take advantage of this opportunity to learn how to live well. Because he knew that if Bellatrix had been captured before that decision, he would have been packing his bags as soon as he had been told.

But now– even before Snape had mentioned how he felt– Harry felt secure enough to not assume that he would be kicked out. Perhaps he would not have been surprised if Snape had told him to pack, but he had not made the assumption himself.

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke early, as he always did. It was Christmas morning, and he had not seen any sign that Snape celebrated the holiday around the house. There was no Christmas tree and no other decorations.

That was fine by Harry, though. Because the fact that he could expect to have three square meals today set this holiday ahead of any Christmas he had celebrated prior to Hogwarts.

Harry did wish he had his Christmas presents to open. His friends had all given their gifts to him before leaving for the holidays, so the gifts were still sitting in his wardrobe at Hogwarts, unopened. And though the thought of Snape getting him a present wasn't as absurd as it once would have been, the lack of decoration made it clear that there would be no presents from that quarter.

Sitting up in bed, Harry scrubbed at his face, then stretched. Then he stood up and got ready for the day. Once he had finished, he made his way down the stairs and into the sitting room. And froze in shock.

There, in the corner of the room where there was normally an armchair, was a Christmas tree. A proper one, decorated with fairy lights and tinsel and topped with a golden star. Underneath its branches was a small pile of presents– including, Harry was shocked to realize, his presents from his friends.

Harry finally looked away from the tree to see if Snape was anywhere nearby. He wasn't in the sitting room, but Harry thought he heard noises coming from the kitchen.

Harry hurried through the house to the kitchen, where he found Snape setting the table for breakfast.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," said Snape.

"Happy Christmas, sir," Harry echoed, bewilderment rising in his chest. "What _happened_? In the sitting room."

Snape finished with the table and took his seat, gesturing for Harry to do the same before he responded. "I decorated it for Christmas," he said.

Harry slid into his seat and realized that his plate was empty. Absently, he started to serve himself. "Well, yes, but where did it all come from? And why?" Harry wondered why Snape would bother to decorate for Christmas so late, but he didn't want to sound accusatory, so he kept that curiosity to himself.

"I had to ask Minerva for help, and she was not available to help me decorate until last night. She also, you might have noticed, brought your presents from your dorm room."

Harry nodded, a pleased smile overtaking his face. "Yeah, I saw!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was going to have to wait until after break to open those!"

"Why did you leave them at school?" Snape asked, mild curiosity in his tone.

Harry fixed his gaze on his plate and shrugged as he took a bite of his breakfast. "I didn't want to risk Aunt Petunia finding them and taking them," he decided to tell the man.

Snape hummed, the noise thoughtful, but said nothing more.

They made their way through their breakfast in silence. Excitement rose within Harry, growing more and more the longer he sat there. It was _Christmas Day, _and he had _presents_ to open. But Snape tended to frown disapprovingly if Harry didn't clear his plate, so he bounced his leg as he rushed through his meal.

Harry finished eating, then realized, to his dismay, that Snape's plate was far from clear. Harry had just started bouncing his other leg, arms crossed, when Snape got to his feet.

"I believe that I will take the rest of my breakfast in the sitting room," announced Snape, picking up his plate and walking out of the kitchen.

Harry launched to his feet, following behind Snape, as close as he dared.

Harry careened to a halt, dropping into a seated position by the tree and the pile of presents– some of which were his! Snape sat down in the armchair nearest the Christmas tree and resumed eating his breakfast.

"Do you mind if I–" Harry asked, gesturing at the tree and the presents. He felt a bit awkward that he would likely be finished opening his own presents before Snape even finished his breakfast.

"Not at all," said Snape, magnanimous.

Harry reached out for a sloppily-wrapped present he remembered was from Ron.

And so Harry opened all the presents he knew were his, the warm and content feeling within him growing at the sight of each one. Once he was done with all his gifts, he glanced at the remaining wrapped presents, curious.

They were all wrapped in the same paper, and they were the most meticulously-wrapped presents that Harry had ever seen.

Harry glanced over at Snape and saw that his chair was empty. He must have left to return his dish to the kitchen. Taking advantage of the man's absence, Harry reached out and grabbed one of the gifts, hoping to see who it was from. He _had_ to know who had sent Snape so many presents.

The tag stated, in the same handwriting Harry recognized from years of Potions class, that the present was addressed 'To: Harry, From: Severus Snape'.

Harry dropped the present, his jaw opening in shock. He snatched one of the other presents and saw that its tag said the exact same thing. As did the rest of the presents.

Snape had gotten Harry presents for Christmas. Had gotten him more than one present, actually.

Perhaps Harry shouldn't be so surprised. Snape had, after all, admitted to liking Harry, at least a little. And you got presents for the people that you liked.

Then Harry remembered that he had not gotten Snape anything for Christmas.

Snape walked back into the room, then, heading directly for his armchair.

"I didn't get you anything for Christmas," Harry blurted out, guilt churning in his chest.

Snape looked at him, his gaze indiscernible. "I cannot imagine why you would have," he said, calm.

"But– but you got _me_ presents," Harry said, gesturing with frantic motions at the still-wrapped presents scattered around him.

"It is my understanding that children do not usually get presents for their guardians."

Harry blinked, realizing what Snape had almost said. He set that aside, though, as he had a much more pressing question to answer. _What had Snape gotten him for Christmas? _

Harry gestured at the presents arrayed around him. "Do you mind if I open them, then?"

"Of course not," Snape said, "just leave that one for last." He gestured at the gift that was sitting near Harry's left knee.

Harry picked up the aforementioned present and set it off to the side. Then he picked up one of the others and ripped into it, ready to see what Snape considered a good present.

It was a jumper. A _nice_ jumper, one that must have come from a store, though it was missing any tags. Harry picked it up out of the box and held it up to his chest. It looked like it would fit him perfectly. Harry _almost _regretted that he was already wearing his Weasley sweater, which would always be superior to any store-bought jumper. But were it not for that, he would have put the jumper on then and there.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, grateful. It wasn't the most exciting of gifts, but Harry did need more clothing that wasn't falling apart at the seams. The man had probably noticed Harry walking around in Dudley's cast-offs and decided to do something about it.

Harry opened the next couple of presents, and they were all various articles of clothing. Harry had started out thanking Snape for each present, but after the third time, Snape had snapped at Harry, saying that he didn't need to be thanked so much.

But Harry _did _think he needed to be thanked. For the longest time, Harry had lumped Snape in with the Dursleys, in a category for 'people who hate Harry'.

Snape hadn't been in that category for some days now. Honestly, Snape should have been removed from that category months ago. Snape had changed. Snape had done what Harry had always wished the Dursleys would do. Snape had changed his mind about Harry and started treating him better as a result.

Harry stared vacantly at the largest gift, biting his lip as the memories of all the times he had wished, as strongly as he could manage, for the Dursleys to change. _Just a little_, he had always added, _just enough so that they wouldn't _hate _him_.

They never had changed. But Snape had. And that meant that Snape must know that the way he had treated Harry was wrong. It was everything Harry had always wanted, just not in the person he had expected.

Harry blinked a few times to clear his vision and grabbed the large present, the one that he'd saved for second to last.

Inside was a warm winter coat, the likes of which Harry used to dream of having on cold, windy winter days. With trembling hands, Harry reached into the box and pulled the coat out. It was, as everything else had been, in his size.

Harry pressed his cheek into the fabric of the interior, amazed by how soft it was. Snape must have seen how worn his jacket was when he had come to get Harry at the Dursley's.

It was hard to believe that Snape had noticed and remembered that Harry's jacket was worn after seeing Harry wear it once, but that must be the case.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, voice tight with emotion.

Snape looked away, uncomfortable. "You are welcome," he said. He cleared his throat, then continued, "Your last gift may require some explanation, so why don't you open it now."

Harry nodded, gently setting the coat on top of the pile of gifts he had received. Then he pulled the last present in front of him. It was much smaller than the others had been, little more than a postcard in size.

Snape was watching his motions. With exaggerated care, Harry peeled back the tape on the present to remove the paper without damaging it. It took a couple moments, but Harry managed to remove enough of the tape that he was able to slide the contents out of the wrapping.

Into his waiting hands fell a small stack of photographs. They were sharp immobile, black and white images of a very young girl. She was charging at the photographer, her hands full of flowers and her smile wide.

Harry looked up, a question on his lips.

"She is your mother," Snape said, not meeting Harry's questioning stare.

"Mum?" Harry whispered, fixing his gaze back on the first picture, his new mission in life to absorb the childish features into his memory. Then, after an eternity, he flipped to the next photo in the stack. This one was also of his mum; she was sitting on a tree branch, her head thrown back in laughter.

These pictures were older than any of the ones in the photo album Hagrid had given him. They were unique and new and unlike any other pictures Harry had seen of his mum.

Harry started to slide his fingers towards the photo, to– to do something, maybe stroke his mum's face, but he stopped himself, the fear of smudging the photo freezing him in his tracks.

"Where did you get these?" Harry asked in his amazement, gaze still fixated on the image he was holding.

"We were friends once. Growing up, we lived a few blocks apart, and we met at a local park."

And so, Harry listened to the story of how his mum and Snape had been friends growing up. About the times they had commisserated over how awful his Aunt Petunia had been. How Snape had been the one to tell his mum she had been magic.

It seemed that once the floodgates had opened, the story demanded to be told. And, to Harry's amazement, it was not only a story about his mum, but it was also a story he was being given freely. Harry had not needed to poke and prod Snape into telling it.

It was amazing to hear about his mother. Lupin and Sirius had been great sources for stories about his dad, but they hadn't had as much to say about his mum. Harry had always felt that deficit keenly, had always wanted to know more about his mum.

And here Snape was, fulfilling that lifelong wish.

While Snape spoke, Harry finished looking through the pictures. There were not very many, and they all seemed to be from the span of a few short years. But they were unlike any other pictures Harry had of his mum, and therefore they were precious.

When Snape finished speaking, there was a comfortable silence lingering in the room.

"You know," Snape said, absent and thoughtful, "my patronus used to match Lily's. It was a doe, just like hers. But no longer; something during my time as Eli changed me enough to change my patronus. It is now a Jacana bird."

"Jacana bird?" Harry asked, not looking up.

"Yes," said Snape. He shook his head, seeming to come out of the thoughtful, storytelling haze he had been in, and got to his feet. "I will leave you to your presents," he said.

Harry got to his feet and gathered his presents into his arms. He had thank you letters to write and pictures to memorize.

* * *

AN: im finally confident about the number of chapters left in the fic!– there's one more chapter and an epilogue after that. i can actually be confident about that because i have the entirety of the rest of the fic written! i still have to do editing, but that won't change the number of chapters left. so rest assured, there is zero chance of this fic being abandoned :D

_please_ comment, y'all!


	11. Let It All Out

The day after Christmas, Hectate returned with replies from his friends. Harry had told them about how Christmas with Snape had gone, and he had asked them what they thought about Snape. Harry was pretty sure that Snape had changed, but he expected that Ron, at least, would not believe it.

The letters Harry had received proved him wrong, though. Both Ron and Hermione had agreed that Snape seemed different now.

In all honesty, Harry should have known that Ron and Hermione would be willing to believe that Snape had changed. After Dumbledore had unmasked Snape, neither Ron nor Hermione had been surprised to find out that Snape had lied to them. In fact, the reason they had not been upset was because Dumbledore had been the one to unmask Snape.

When Snape had changed how he taught in the classroom, both Ron and Hermione had become even more positively dispositioned towards him.

At the time, their reactions had bothered Harry, because it had felt like they were ignoring the gravity of Snape's betrayal. But now, he was grateful for their nonchalance because it had probably made it easier for them to accept what Harry had told them.

Harry pulled parchment and a quill towards him and began to compose his replies.

* * *

"Harry!" Snape called from the floor below. "Would you come here for a moment?"

Harry set down his quill and got up from the desk. He wondered what it was Snape wanted him for, and he hurried downstairs to find out.

"Yes, sir?" Harry asked, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Snape was seated in an armchair, and as Harry spoke, the man closed the book he was reading.

"I wanted to inform you that Minerva will be coming by for dinner tonight," he said.

"Oh, okay," Harry said, then paused. His instinct was to assume that Snape meant for him to stay in his room, making no noise, and pretending he didn't exist. But he knew better now, and he wasn't going to make that mistake. "Was that all, sir?" he added, to make it clear he was done speaking.

"You may wish to come down for dinner a couple minutes earlier than normal, to give you time to greet her before we begin eating."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You know," Snape said, slow and deliberate, "you have been staying here for some time now. And you may have noticed that I have begun calling you Harry."

Harry nodded. He had noticed that, but– it just made sense. Snape no longer fit into the category with all the other people who called him 'Potter', so it only made sense that Snape wouldn't call him that anymore, too.

"I was wondering, then, if you would be comfortable with calling me Severus," Snape continued.

Harry froze. "You– you want me to call you _Severus_?" he asked, incredulous.

Snape nodded. "You will, of course, utilize the honorifics when we are at Hogwarts. However, this _is_ a holiday, and if you are comfortable doing so, I would prefer it if you were to call me by name."

This wasn't a very difficult concept to understand, and yet Harry was still having a hard time with it. It was just so _odd_ for Snape, the man who insisted on honorifics at every available opportunity, to request that Harry refer to him familiarly.

Harry's instincts were misleading him, telling him that this was a trap that would only get him into trouble. Snape couldn't mean for Harry to call him _Severus_. But then Harry's experiences of the past week or so asserted themselves; Harry knew that Snape wasn't likely to try and trick him like that.

Harry decided to clarify one last time. "And you're _sure_ you want me to call you Severus?"

"I am certain."

Harry forced his tense shoulders to relax and took in a deep breath. "Okay then, Severus."

Snape– Severus?– smiled.

* * *

Harry closed the book he was reading and stood up. It was getting close to dinner time, so he ought to get ready to go down. Since Professor McGonagall was coming, Harry decided to wear something a touch nicer than normal.

Harry changed into a pair of slacks and a jumper, both of which Snape had gotten him for Christmas. He stopped by the loo on his way downstairs to check his appearance. Once there, he put in an admittedly hopeless effort to tame his hair, then went down to the sitting room.

Sn– Severus was nowhere to be found, so Harry continued on to the kitchen.

The kitchen was more crowded than normal. The small table used to be just the right size for the two of them, but now it had been expanded far enough to add a third chair. This small change was enough to take the kitchen from 'cozy' to 'cramped'.

The fact that Severus was still in the process of preparing the meal, all of the requisite pots and pans out on display, only made the cramped atmosphere worse.

Harry knew that it was unlikely Severus would accept, but he decided to offer a hand anyways. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked.

Severus glanced at him for a moment, started to shake his head, then stopped.

Harry perked up.

"Actually," Severus said, "there is something you can do. Would you mind waiting in the sitting room for Minerva to come through the floo, and then escort her here?"

It wasn't the cooking or cleaning that Harry had been hoping to help with, but it was still a way to help out. "Yes, I can do that."

Harry turned and left the kitchen. He entered the sitting room, where he sat down to wait in an armchair. He didn't have to wait very long before the fire in the fireplace flared a bright, fluorescent green, then spat out Professor McGonagall.

Harry stood up and waited while Professor McGonagall took a moment to brush herself off.

"Good evening, professor," Harry said, once she was done.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," she said, then paused, looking around. "Where is Professor Snape?"

"He's in the kitchen, working on dinner," Harry replied.

McGonagall nodded. "How have you and Professor Snape been getting along?" she asked, voice hushed.

Harry shrugged. "Pretty well," he said. "He's been a lot nicer in general, lately."

"That's good," McGonagall said. She pressed her hand to her chest. "That's good," she repeated.

Harry cleared his throat. "How was your holiday?" he asked. As he spoke, he took a step towards the kitchen and gestured for Professor McGonagall to follow him.

She followed him. "It has been very busy. Hardly much of a holiday at all. My wife, Florence, has been just as busy. So unfortunately, she is unable to join us for dinner."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, but he was lucky enough not to have to come up with a response since they had just walked into the kitchen.

"Welcome, Minerva," Severus said. "Have a seat, I am nearly done with preparing our dinner."

"Thank you, Severus," McGonagall said. She hesitated before sitting down, so Harry slid around her and took his usual seat.

With both adults together, there was little need for Harry to contribute to the conversation. They spoke about things like the progress of the ward reset, which Harry had nothing to contribute to. He didn't mind, though, because he still felt a bit awkward being around his professors in such a casual setting.

Severus set the last dish on the table and took his seat. "I hope you enjoy pot roast, Minerva."

McGonagall smiled and nodded. "This one in particular looks– and smells– delicious," she added.

Harry nodded in agreement. He watched in interest as Snape carved into the pot roast and McGonagall began to pass the side dishes around. With everyone working together, they all had loaded plates very soon.

"Did you both have a good Christmas?" McGonagall asked.

Harry looked up and saw that both Severus and McGonagall were looking at him expectantly. Harry quickly swallowed his mouthful of food. "Oh, it was great!" he said. "Professor Snape even decorated!"

"Harry, I believe I asked you to call me Severus."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "But I thought you wanted me to call you 'sir' and 'professor' in front of other people?"

Severus shook his head. "It is only when we are at school, when I am acting in my capacity as your professor, that you need to worry about honorifics."

"Alright, Severus," Harry said.

"I see the two of you really have been getting along well," McGonagall said.

Harry nodded, emphatic. Severus had been better than Harry had ever thought he could be.

"We have," Severus agreed.

Conversation lapsed as they focused on their meals. Harry was relieved; it was a little uncomfortable that Professor McGonagall was so interested in how he and Severus had been getting along, and listening to their small talk hadn't been much better. The silence was pleasant, so Harry was more than happy to let it linger.

The silence could only last so long, though.

"I forgot to mention," McGonagall said, setting her fork down, "that Petunia wrote me a letter the other day. If you could avoid interacting with her again, Severus, that would be ideal. The blood wards are still intact, but she was _not _happy about seeing you."

Harry dropped his fork.

Snape had told him that the wards were gone. Harry had only left the Dursley's in the first place because Snape had said that the wards were gone. Snape had _lied _to him.

Snape said something in response to McGonagall, but Harry didn't hear it. Everything felt distorted, like he was underwater and everything else was on land. His blood churned and his heart pounded, as he struggled through the rest of his meal.

Professor McGonagall was still here, so Harry didn't want to confront Snape yet. McGonagall had been the one to force Snape to take him in, after all, so she would probably support Snape's tactics in getting Harry to comply.

And besides, McGonagall wasn't the one that Harry was mad at. McGonagall wasn't the one who had spent so much time convincing Harry to trust him. McGonagall wasn't the one Harry had been relying on to help him learn how to live in a normal household. So Harry didn't want her to be there when he confronted Snape.

To his relief, Snape and McGonagall seemed to have picked up on his mood, and were now talking around him.

"I had better go now," McGonagall said, once the meal was over.

This was enough to force Harry to surface and rejoin reality, though his anger lingered, undiminished. "Er– it is getting late," he said, with no idea what time it was.

Snape nodded and stood up. "It was good to see you, Minerva."

McGonagall stood up too. "I can see myself out," she said, glancing between Harry and Snape.

Harry wondered if she knew what she had done, knew that Harry wanted her gone so he could confront Snape.

"Very well," Snape said, "do let me know if you need anything," Snape said.

"It was nice to see you, professor," Harry said, determinedly pleasant.

"It was nice to see you both," McGonagall said, making eye contact with Harry, then Snape. She walked out of the kitchen, and moments later, the sound of the floo flaring resonated from the sitting room.

Harry waited a couple more moments, just to be sure she was gone. Then he stood up to face Snape, who was still standing.

"You lied to me," Harry declared, forcing his voice not to shake with the force of his emotions.

Snape met his furious gaze, face smooth and expressionless. "I said what was necessary to convince you to leave. I would not have needed to lie to you if you had been open about how you were treated there."

Harry saw white. He clenched his fists and forced himself to remain still. He would _not_ smash Snape's things like he had smashed Dumbledore's, no matter how angry he got.

"So you're saying it's _my _fault that you lied to me?" Harry spat. He slashed his hand down downward, stopping Snape from speaking. "Did you know that I asked– no, I _begged–_ Dumbledore for permission to stay at Hogwarts over the summer? He said no! And then I later found out that it was because of the blood wards.

"He said that the blood wards were the _only_ things keeping me safe from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I went back to that place because there were still Death Eaters on the loose– because I would rather put up with the Dursleys than put my friends at risk.

"But then you said that there were no more blood wards! And because I believed you, I agreed that it was better for me to leave." Harry stopped and forced himself to take a deep breath. He reached up and scrubbed at his face, willing his heart to stop pounding so much, his muscles to relax.

Snape was leaning against the counter, his arms loosely crossed over his chest, a single eyebrow raised. "May I speak now?" he asked in a calm voice.

Harry nodded, the motion more terse than he would have liked it to be.

"I acknowledge that lying to you was wrong. However, it was the only method I could think of to convince you to leave that house. I knew that their house was not a good environment for you. Setting aside the things I observed while at Hogwarts– the locks on your bedroom door, the bars on your window, the overall state of your room, all of this was more than sufficient to convince me that you needed to leave.

"So I said whatever was necessary to convince _you_ to leave," Snape said.

Harry thought back to that conversation, to that day at the Dursleys. He had not been doing well then– he had been convinced that he would be spending the Christmas holidays locked in his room. He hadn't even been sure that Aunt Petunia would feed him.

And then Snape had shown up and taken Harry away from that place. From there, his holidays had only improved. So– maybe Snape did have his best interests in mind, even then, long before Harry had begun to trust the man. It was difficult to reconcile that possibility with the knowledge that Snape had once again lied to him– yet Harry knew that he would be able to do so eventually.

Harry thrust his fingers through his hair. "I can understand why you did that, but I don't think– I don't know if I can forgive it yet."

Being on familiar terms with Snape was still so new to Harry. Their relationship had changed dramatically in the short amount of time since Harry had come to stay with Snape, so this was another thing to process on top of everything else. Harry did think he would be able to forgive Snape– if nothing else, returning to the Dursleys in the summer would remind him of all the reasons Snape had done what he did.

"Very well," Snape said.

Harry sighed. "At least I only have one more summer there," he muttered. "Then I'll be an adult and free to go my own way."

"What?" Snape snapped, a sharp edge to his voice. "You will _not_ be going back there. Ever."

Harry had jumped at the change in tone. When he recovered, he crossed his arms and scoffed. "The wards are still active, though. That means I have to go back there for at least a couple of weeks to recharge them."

Besides, he didn't want to impose on the Weasleys for an entire summer, and he didn't exactly have anywhere else to go. It wasn't like McGonagall would need to talk Snape into letting Harry stay again, since Bellatrix had been captured.

Snape shook his head, impatient. "With Voldemort dead and Bellatrix and her lackeys in custody, there is no danger sufficient enough to necessitate the unique protection of the blood wards. Typical protective wards and the presence of a fully trained wizard are enough to keep you safe."

It dawned on Harry that Snape might be talking about himself and his home– that he meant for Harry to stay with him. "You– you want me to stay with you?" he asked, unable to help the disbelief that suffused his voice.

"I do," Snape said, nodding. "If you would be willing to come back. I have enjoyed having you here."

"But– wasn't McGonagall the one who made you take me in in the first place?" Harry didn't know why he was arguing quite so much– maybe he just needed to be sure that Snape really wanted him here, without coercion involved.

"I am unsure where you got the idea that Minerva forced me to take you in," Snape began. "It was my idea to retrieve you from the Dursleys. I mentioned before that I had had my suspicions about how you were treated there long before I set foot in that house.

"I decided that it would be better to check in and see how you were rather than risk you spending the holiday somewhere you weren't wanted.

"And now I have found that I genuinely enjoy having you around."

Harry sucked in a deep breath and braced himself. "If you're sure you want me, then I'd– I'd like to stay."

Snape uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Harry, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm sure."

* * *

AN: just so y'all know, the epilogue is complete, so i could be encouraged to post it sooner if that's something you want. (i will definitely post it by next monday, but im just throwing that out there)

anyways, this was the last true chapter, the epilogue is a bit shorter and takes place after a timeskip. hope you guys have enjoyed this journey and i can't wait to see you all for the epilogue!


	12. Epilogue

Severus woke up on the morning of July 31st feeling refreshed and nervous despite the tranquility of the past few weeks.

For once, the school year had ended on a positive note. Harry had consented to accompany him to Spinner's End as planned. Looking back on it now, it had been a long and difficult journey of reconciliation.

After the winter holidays, Harry had started to spend more time with Severus outside of the classroom.

Harry would come to Severus's office to do his homework, claiming it was to avoid the stares of his classmates. Perhaps this was part of his initial motivation, but Severus liked to think that Harry had come to appreciate their time together for the sake of the company.

Their friendly relationship had been a source of much gossip and speculation among the students– almost as much as Severus's changed teaching methods had been.

Of course, Harry was just as private as Severus was, so neither of them fed the rumor mill any accurate information. This led to most of the rumors being outlandish– so outlandish that the only people who believed them were first years and avid readers of the Daily Prophet.

As to what the truth was– Severus smiled as he remembered what the truth was soon to become.

* * *

"Hey, Severus!" Harry said, closing the door to Severus's office behind him.

"Good evening, Harry," Severus said. He turned away from his newly-acquired lab rats to watch as Harry plopped down into his typical seat. The rats squeaked, the sounds angry and offended. Severus cast a casual _Silencio_ at them both.

"How was your day?" asked Harry.

"It was… eventful," Severus said. "Do you recall that discussion we had with Minerva about what to do with the Dursleys?"

Harry's eyes widened and darted to the rats behind Severus, then back again. "Are those–"

Severus nodded, impressed by the speed with which Harry had picked up on the rats' identity. "The rats are in fact your relatives– or, at least, the elder two. As you requested, Dudley is currently in a group home for troubled boys."

Harry's eyes glazed over as he stared at the rats. "You really did it, then. Are you actually going to use them for experiments?"

Severus smirked. He already had several potions he wished to test on the humans-turned-rats, and he was planning to brew the potions that very weekend. "I do. Though as I agreed, I will do my utmost to make sure the potions are safe before testing them."

But, Severus reassured himself, accidents happened in a Potions lab.

Harry sighed and tore his eyes away from the rats once more. "So– what happens next? I mean, with the Dursleys gone, I don't have a legal guardian or anything."

Severus's chest tightened, anxiety surging forth as the time to ask Harry the vital question drew nearer. He shoved the unwelcome feeling down, stowing it away behind his Occlumency shields. He needed to appear calm as he broached the most nerve-wracking conversation he would have had in quite some time.

"Minerva and I discussed this, and as we see it, there are two options going forward," Severus began, in a voice much like the one he used for lectures. "Both options are contingent on the following two facts. First, you have agreed to stay with me for the summer. Second, I possess documents that have been signed by Vernon and Petunia wherein they renounce their guardianship of you.

"The first option is a transfer of legal guardianship. I have the form here; all it requires are some signatures. My signature, of course, and a witness's signature. The stamp of a notary– and, because you are over eleven years old, your signature.

"The second option is–" Severus cleared his throat– "adoption."

Harry's mouth gaped open.

Severus suppressed the urge to fidget as he continued. "Adoption would involve a small ceremony. It must take place either at the Ministry or with a Ministry employee present. We would each require a witness, who must be of age. Then, at the ceremony, we would all sign the requisite forms, perhaps say a few words, and that would be it.

"There is no need to decide now. The forms regarding the Dursleys' renounced guardianship have not yet been filed. So as far as anyone knows, you are still their ward. Minerva and I have ensured that they will not be reported missing, so you have time to consider what you would like to do."

"For– for the adoption, can it be any Ministry employee?" asked Harry.

The anxiety behind Severus's Occlumency shields began to abate as Harry asked after the adoption process. He set this aside to search his memories for the answer.

"Yes, I believe it can be any Ministry employee. There is likely a preference for higher ranked employees… but nothing that should stop a lower ranked employee from witnessing."

"So the employee could be Mr Weasley?" Harry asked, perking up.

"Yes, it could be," Severus said. "In fact, he'd be an excellent choice, since he is a department head."

Harry nodded and reached up to scratch at the back of his head. "Do you have a preference? I mean, would you prefer adoption or guardianship?"

Severus paused. Of course he had a preference. As time had passed, Severus had somehow grown more fond of Harry. Guardianship implied that the relationship was temporary– meant to be severed, once the ward came of age. But adoption was permanent, and Severus desired a permanent bond with Harry.

But he didn't want to pressure the boy, so he shook his head. "This is your decision to make, Harry. I will be pleased with whatever choice you make."

Harry shifted in his seat, then directed his gaze at the wall behind Severus, lost in thought.

"Remember, you do not need to make a decision now," Severus reassured him.

Harry's eyes snapped back to Severus and he straightened in his seat. "No– I know what I want," he said, decisive. "I'd like to be adopted. I'd like to be your son."

* * *

Harry woke up on the morning of July 31st feeling refreshed and nervous. He and Severus had decided to hold the adoption ceremony today, on Harry's birthday.

For the first time in years, Harry had not stayed up till midnight to open his presents. There was no longer any need to hide his celebrations in the dead of night. Now, his birthday was to be openly celebrated.

Aside from the ceremony for the adoption, Severus had planned a reception afterwards that would double as a birthday party. This was so all of Harry's friends knew to bring his gifts to the party rather than send them in time for midnight.

But before any of that could happen, Harry had to get up out of bed. He realized that the smell of pancakes was permeating his room, so he decided it was a good time to get up and head down for breakfast.

"Good morning, Harry," Severus said, as Harry came into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Severus."

"Did you sleep well?" asked Severus.

Harry slid into his usual seat at the kitchen table and nodded. "I slept shockingly well, considering how excited I am for today," he paused, then eyed Severus suspiciously. "You don't have anything to do with that, do you?"

Severus turned to set a plate of pancakes onto the table. "Of course not. I would never drug you without permission." He took his seat across from Harry and started to serve his own food.

Harry narrowed his eyes, unsure if he believed the man. Then he decided that Severus wouldn't risk their relationship by lying to him. Harry served himself pancakes and settled in to eat them.

Harry was part way through his plate when the abrupt arrival of McGonagall's patronus startled him.

"Arthur tells me they're running a bit late, so feel free to take some extra time," McGonagall's voice said, projecting out from the ethereal cat.

Harry rolled his eyes as Severus sighed.

Severus pulled out his wand and cast his own patronus– a jacana bird, he had said it was. He told the patronus to send an acknowledgement to McGonagall. The patronus disappeared and Severus stowed his wand away.

"Severus?" Harry asked, suddenly curious. "What does your Patronus mean? I've never heard of a jacana bird before."

"I had not heard of it, either, when my Patronus first changed forms. I looked it up later and found that they are known for their paternal instincts," Severus paused and smiled fondly at Harry. "It is a Patronus that I hope to live up to."

Harry returned the smile. "I think you're doing a great job."

"Thank you, Harry," said Severus.

Harry returned to his meal, his thoughts drifting towards the coming ceremony. Ron and Hermione were both of age, and therefore both eligible to be his witness for the adoption.

Harry had thought about it for a long time– discussing it in great detail with Severus– and he had decided to ask Hermione to be his official witness. Ron's dad was the Ministry witness, and Harry didn't think Ron would mind not signing the actual forms. Ron would still be there, of course, he just wouldn't be there in any official capacity.

Severus had asked McGonagall to be his official witness. McGonagall's involvement in the ceremony was convenient too, since Harry wanted to hold the ceremony on the Hogwarts grounds.

Hogwarts would always be the first place Harry had felt at home, so it felt right that it should be the place where he would acquire a new, permanent home.

Harry had also decided that he wanted there to be more to the ceremony than just a signing of forms. So he and Severus had spent some time over the past couple of weeks writing the words they would speak. Harry's words were simple– an expression of gratitude to Severus for taking him in, and for stepping into the parental role that had been such a void in Harry's life.

And after today, Harry would never be alone against the world again.

"Are you almost ready to depart?" Severus asked.

Harry looked down and saw that he had cleared his plate while he was lost in thought, and had spent the intervening time since he had finished eating by stirring the remnants of the syrup around his plate. "Oh! Yes, I am. But didn't Professor McGonagall say that the Weasleys were running late?"

"She did," Severus acknowledged, "but I would rather be there early so we are not the ones people are waiting for."

"Alright," Harry said, getting up from his seat.

Severus did the same and gestured for Harry to walk ahead of him into the sitting room. As planned, they would be flooing to Severus's office, then they would be walking out to the grounds for the ceremony.

Harry came to a halt by the fireplace and picked up a handful of floo powder. He glanced at Severus.

Harry had a thought– and it was stupid, but he wanted to do it. "Do you think we could floo together?"

Severus cocked his head to the side. "I don't see why not," he said.

Harry held the floo powder in his right hand and with his left he reached out for Severus's– his _dad's_– hand. Severus squeezed his hand and gestured towards the fireplace.

"Whenever you are ready, Harry."

Harry nodded and tossed the floo powder into the fireplace.

They declared their destination, and together, they stepped into the flames and into their future.

* * *

AN: and that's all she wrote, folks! this has been an incredibly long journey that started when i was just a kid in high school (for reference, i just graduated from uni). a huge thank you to everyone who's here, whether you've been with me since the first chapter of the first part or if you just discovered the series yesterday, without you, this story would never have been completed.

this story _is_ completed. there will not be a sequel, there will not be any continuation. do not ask me to write more. i can guarantee that nothing any of you say will make me consider it– this story is complete, i have nothing more to say.

that being said, i am far from done writing. my next major project is my fic, How Like Home, where harry trips through the veil and finds himself in an alternate universe that has no voldemort.

once again, thank you all for reading, and don't forget to review!


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